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TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 


Dugouts 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

THE  PERSONAL  NARRATIVE  OF  A 
NEWFOUNDLANDER  WITH  THE  ILL- 
FATED  DARDANELLES  EXPEDITION 


BY 
JOHN  GALLISHAW 


ILLUSTRATED  WITH 
PHOTOGRAPHS 


Stf*^^^?^^ 


NEW  YORK 
THE  CENTURY  CO. 

197 


Copyright,   1916,  by 
The  Century'  Co. 

Published,  October,  1916 


TO 
PROFESSOR  CHARLES  TOWNSEND  COPELAND 

OF  ALL  THAT  HARVARD  HAS  GIVEN  ME  I  VALUE  MOST 
THE  FRIENDSHIP  AND  CONFIDENCE  OF  "COPEY" 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  Getting   There 3 

II  There 33 

III  Trenches 63 

IV  Dugouts        93 

V  Waiting  for  the  War  to  Cease     ....  123 

VI  No  Man's  Land 141 

VII  Wounded 164 

VIII  Homeward   Bound 192 

IX  "Feenish"       . 224 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 


Dugouts Frontispiece 

Lord  Kitchener  talking  to  some  Australians  at  Anzac      9 

Scene  at  Lancashire  Landing,  Cape  Helles  ....     27 

Allies    landing    reinforcements    under    heavy    fire    of 
Turks  in  Dardanelles 38 

Troops   at  the   Dardanelles   leaving   for  the   landing 
beach 47 

A  remarkable  view  of  a  landing  party  in  the  Dar- 
danelles        57 

Australians  in  trench  on   Gallipoli   Peninsula,  using 
the  periscope 67 

First  line  of  Allies'  trench  zigzagging  along  parallel  to 
the  Turkish  trenches v    78 

Washing  day  in  war-time .     95 

Cleaning  up  after  coming  down  from  the  trenches  at 
Suvla 114 

Landing   British   troops   from  the   transports   at   the 
Dardanelles  under  protection  of  the  battleships       .  131 

Australians  in  the  trenches  consider  clothes  a  super- 
fluity       157 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

Some  of  the  barbed  wire  entanglements  near  Seddul 
Bahr  are  still  in  position 175 

A  British  battery  at  work  on  the  Peninsula     .      .      .  186 

With  the  French  at  Suddul  Bahr 203 

Where   troops   landed   in   Dardanelles,   showing   Fort 
Sed-ne-behi  battered  to  pieces  by  Allied  Fleet     .     .  213 


TRENCHING  AT 
GALLIPOLI 


The  reader  is  hereby  cautioned  against  regard- 
ing this  narrative  as  in  any  way  official. 

It  is  merely  a  record  of  the  personal  experi- 
ences of  a  member  of  the  First  Newfoundland 
Regiment,  but  the  incidents  described  all  actu- 
ally occurred. 


TRENCHING  AT 
GALLIPOLI 

CHAPTER  I 

GETTING  THERE 

GREAT  BRITAIN  is  at  War.  " 
The  announcement  came  to  Newfound- 
land out  of  a  clear  sky.  Confirming  it,  came  the 
news  of  the  assurances  of  loyalty  from  the  differ- 
ent colonies,  expressed  in  terms  of  men  and  equip- 
ment. Newfoundland  was  not  to  be  outdone. 
Her  population  is  a  little  more  than  two  hun- 
dred thousand,  and  her  isolated  position  made 
garrisons  unneccessary.  Her  only  semblance  of 
military  training  was  her  city  brigades.  People 
remembered  that  in  the  Boer  War  a  handful  of 
Newfoundlanders  had  enlisted  in  Canadian  regi- 
ments, but  never  before  had  there  been  any  talk 
of  Newfoundland  sending  a  contingent  made  up 
entirely  of  her  own  people  and  representing  her 

3 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

as  a  colony.  From  the  posting  of  the  first  no- 
tices bearing  the  simple  message,  "Your  King 
and  Country  Need  You,"  a  motley  crowd 
streamed  into  the  armory  in  St,  John's.  The 
city  brigades,  composed  mostly  of  young,  beau- 
tifully fit  athletes  from  rowing  crews,  football 
and  hockey  teams,  enlisted  in  a  body.  Every 
train  from  the  interior  brought  lumbermen,  fresh 
from  the  mills  and  forests,  husky,  steel-muscled, 
pugnacious  at  the  most  peaceful  times,  frankly 
spoiling  for  excitement.  From  the  outharbors 
and  fishing  villages  came  callous-handed  fisher- 
men, with  backs  a  little  bowed  from  straining 
at  the  oar,  accustomed  to  a  life  of  danger.  Ev- 
ery day  there  came  to  the  armory  loose- jointed, 
easy-swinging  trappers  and  woodsmen,  simple- 
spoken  young  men,  who,  in  offering  their  keen- 
ness of  vision  and  sureness  of  marksmanship, 
were  volunteering  their  all. 

It  was  ideal  material  for  soldiers.  In  two  days 
many  more  than  the  required  quota  had  presented 
themselves.  Only  five  hundred  men  could  be  pre- 
pared in  time  to  cross  with  the  first  contingent  of 
Canadians.  Over  a  thousand  men  offered.  A 
corps  of  doctors  asked  impertinent  questions 
concerning    men's    ancestors,    inspected    teeth, 

4 


GETTING  THERE 

measured  and  pounded  chests,  demanded  gym- 
nastic stunts,  and  finally  sorted  out  the  best  for 
the  first  contingent.  The  disappointed  ones 
were  consoled  by  news  of  another  contingent  to 
follow  in  six  weeks.  Some  men,  turned  down 
for  minor  defects,  immediately  went  to  hospital, 
were  treated,  and  enlisted  in  the  next  contingent. 

Seven  weeks  after  the  outbreak  of  war  the 
Newfoundlanders  joined  the  flotilla  containing 
the  first  contingent  of  Canadians.  Escorted  by 
cruisers  and  air  scouts  they  crossed  the  Atlantic 
safely  and  went  under  canvas  in  the  mud  and 
wet  of  Salisbury  Plain,  in  October,  1914.  To  the 
men  from  the  interior,  rain  and  exposure  were 
nothing  new.  Hunting  deer  in  the  woods  and 
birds  in  the  marshes  means  just  such  conditions. 
The  others  soon  became  hardened  to  it.  They 
had  about  settled  down  when  they  w^ere  sent  on 
garrison  duty,  first  to  Fort  George  in  the  north 
of  Scotland,  and  then  to  Edinburgh  Castle.  Ten 
months  of  bayonet-fighting,  physical  drill,  and 
twenty-mile  route  marches  over  Scottish  hills 
molded  them  into  trim,  erect,  bronzed  soldiers. 

In  July  of  1915,  while  the  Newfoundlanders 
were  under  canvas  at  Stob's  Camp,  about  fifty 
miles  from  Edinburgh,  I  was  transferred  to  Lon- 

5 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

don  to  keep  the  records  of  the  regiment  for  the 
War  Office.  At  any  other  time  I  should  have 
welcomed  the  appointment.  But  then  it  looked 
like  quitting.  The  battalion  had  just  received 
orders  to  move  to  Aldershot.  While  we  were 
garrisoning  Edinburgh  Castle,  word  came  of  the 
landing  of  the  Australians  and  New  Zealanders 
at  Gallipoli.  At  Ypres,  the  Canadians  had  just 
then  recaptured  their  guns  and  made  for  them- 
selves a  deathless  name.  The  Newfoundlanders 
felt  that  as  colonials  they  had  been  overlooked. 
They  were  not  militaristic,  and  they  hated  the 
ordinary  routine  of  army  life,  but  they  wanted  to 
do  their  share.  That  was  the  spirit  all  through 
the  regiment.  It  was  the  spirit  that  possessed 
them  on  the  long-waited-for  day  at  Aldershot 
when  Kitchener  himself  pronounced  them  "  just 
the  men  I  want  for  the  Dardanelles." 

That  day  at  Aldershot  every  man  was  given  a 
chance  to  go  back  to  Newfoundland.  They  had 
enlisted  for  one  year  only,  and  any  man  that 
wished  to  could  demand  to  be  sent  home  at  the 
end  of  the  year;  and  when  Kitchener  reviewed 
them,  ten  months  of  that  year  had  gone.  With 
the  chance  to  go  home  in  his  grasp,  every  man  of 
the  first  battalion  reenlisted  for  the  duration  of 

6 


GETTING  THERE 

the  war.  And  it  is  on  record  to  their  eternal 
honor,  that  during  the  week  preceding  their  de- 
parture from  Aldershot,  breaches  of  discipline 
were  unknown;  for  over  their  heads  hung  the 
fear  that  they  would  be  punished  by  being  kept 
back  from  active  service.  To  break  a  rule  that 
week  carried  with  it  the  suspicion  of  cowardice. 
This  was  the  more  remarkable,  because  many  of 
the  men  were  fishermen,  trappers,  hunters,  and 
lumbermen,  who,  until  their  enlistment  had  said 
"  Sir  "  to  no  man,  and  who  gloried  in  the  reputa- 
tion given  them  by  one  inspecting  oflScer  as  "  the 
most  undisciplined  lot  he  had  ever  seen."  From 
the  day  the  Canadians  left  Salisbury  Plain  for 
the  trenches  of  Flanders,  the  Newfoundlanders 
had  been  obsessed  by  one  idea:  they  must  get  to 
the  front. 

I  was  in  London  when  I  heard  of  the  inspection 
at  Aldershot  by  Lord  Kitchener,  and  of  its  re- 
sults. I  had  expected  to  be  able  to  rejoin  my 
battalion  in  time  to  go  with  them  to  the  Darda- 
nelles ;  but  when  I  applied  for  a  transfer,  I  was 
told  that  I  should  have  to  stay  in  London.  I 
tried  to  imagine  myself  explaining  it  to  my 
friends  in  No.  11  section  who  were  soon  to  em- 
bark for  the  Mediterranean.     Apart  altogether 

7 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

from  that,  I  had  gone  through  nearly  a  year  of 
training,  had  slept  on  the  ground  in  wet  clothes, 
had  drilled  from  early  morning  till  late  after- 
noon, and  was  perfectly  fit.  It  had  been  pretty 
strenuous  training,  and  I  did  not  want  to  waste 
it  in  an  office. 

That  evening  I  applied  to  the  captain  in  charge 
of  the  office  for  a  pass  to  Aldershot  to  bid  good-by 
to  my  friends  in  the  regiment.  He  granted  it; 
and  the  next  morning  a  train  whirled  me  through 
pleasant  English  country  to  Aldershot.  At  the 
station  I  met  an  English  Tommy. 

"  I  suppose  you  're  looking  for  the  Newfound- 
landers," he  said,  glancing  at  my  shoulder  badges. 
I  was  still  wearing  the  service  uniform  I  had 
worn  in  camp  in  Scotland,  for  I  had  not  been 
regularly  attached  to  the  office  force  in  London. 

"  I  '11  take  you  to  Wellington  Barracks,"  vol- 
unteered the  Englishman.  "  That 's  where  your 
lot  is." 

We  trudged  through  sand,  on  to  a  gravel  road, 
through  the  main  street  of  the  town  of  Aldershot, 
and  into  an  asphalt  square,  surrounded  by  brick 
buildings,  three  storied,  with  iron-railed  veran- 
das. Men  in  khaki  leaned  over  the  veranda 
rails,  smoking  and  talking.     A  regiment  was  just 

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GETTING  THERE 

swinging  in  tlirougli  one  of  the  gaps  between  the 
lines. 

"  Company,  at  the  halt,  facing  left,  form  close 
column  of  platoons."  Company  B  of  the  First 
Newfoundland  Regiment  swung  into  position  and 
halted  in  the  square  just  in  front  of  their  quar- 
ters. "  Company,  Dismiss !  "  Hands  smacked 
smartly  on  rifle  stocks,  heels  clicked  together, 
and  the  men  of  B  Company  fell  out.  A  gray- 
haired,  iron-mustached  soldier,  indelibly  stamped 
English  regular,  carrying  a  bucket  of  swill  across 
the  square  to  the  dump,  stopped  to  w^atch  them. 

"  Wonder  who  the  new  lot  is?  "  said  he  to  a 
comrade  lounging  near.  "  I  cawn't  place  their 
bloomin'  badge." 

"  'Ave  n't  you  'eard?  "  said  the  other.  "  Blaw- 
sted  colonials ;  Canydians,  I  reckon." 

A  tall,  loose-jointed,  sandy-haired  youth  who 
approached  the  two  was  unmistakably  a  colonial ; 
there  was  a  certain  ranginess  that  no  amount  of 
drilling  could  ever  entirely  eradicate. 

"  Hello,  Poppa,"  he  greeted  the  gray -haired 
one,  who  had  now  resumed  his  journey  toward 
the  dump.  "  What  will  you  answer  when  your 
children  say,  '  Daddy,  what  part  did  you  play  in 
the  great  war?  '  " 

11 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

He  of  the  swill  bucket  spat  contemptuously, 
disdaining  to  answer.  The  sandy -haired  youth 
continued  airily  across  the  square  and  up  the 
stairs  that  led  to  his  quarters.  I  followed  him 
up  the  stairs  and  through  a  door  on  which  was 
printed  "  Thirty -two  men,"  and  below,  in  chalk, 
"  B  Company."  We  entered  a  long,  bare-look- 
ing room,  down  each  side  of  which  ran  rows  of 
iron  cots.  Equipments  were  piled  neatly  on  the 
beds  and  on  shelves  above;  two  iron-legged,  bar- 
rack-room tables  and  a  few  benches  completed 
the  furniture.  At  one  of  the  tables  sat  two 
young  men.  One  of  them,  a  massively  built 
young  giant,  looked  up  as  the  door  opened. 

"  Hello,  Art,"  he  said  to  my  conductor. 
"  You  're  just  the  man  we  want.  Don't  you  want 
to  join  us  in  a  party  to  go  up  to  London?  " 

"  No,"  answered  Art ;  "  if  you  break  leave  this 
week,  you  don't  get  to  the  front." 

The  big  fellow  stretched  his  massive  frame  in 
a  capacious  yawn. 

"  I  don't  think  we  '11  ever  get  to  the  front,"  he 
said.  "  This  is  n't  a  regiment.  It 's  an  officers' 
training  corps.  They  gave  out  a  lot  more  stripes 
to-day,  and  one  fellow  got  a  star  —  made  him  a 
second  lieutenant.     You  'd  think  this   was  the 

12 


GETTING  THERE 

American  army ;  it 's  nothing  but  stars  and 
stripes.  Soon  't  will  be  an  honor  to  be  a  private. 
The  worst  of  it  is,  they  '11  come  along  to  me  and 
say,  ^What's  your  name  and  number?'  The 
only  time  they  ever  talk  to  me  is  to  ask  me  my 
name  and  number;  and  when  I  tell  them,  they 
put  me  on  crime  for  not  calling  them  '  Sir,'  and 
when  I  don't  they  have  me  up  for  insolence." 

Art  laughed.  "  Cheer  up,  old  boy,"  he  said ; 
"  you  '11  soon  be  at  the  front,  and  then  you  won't 
have  to  call  anybody  '  Sir.'  " 

"  What 's  the  latest  news  about  the  regiment?  " 
I  inquired  of  my  conductor. 

"  I  suppose  you  know  that  the  King  and  Lord 
Kitchener  reviewed  us,"  he  said,  "  and  this  after- 
noon we  are  to  be  reviewed  once  more.  It 's  a 
formality.  We  should  leave  this  evening  or  to- 
morrow for  the  front.  I  suppose  we  '11  go  to 
some  seaport  town  and  embark  there." 

While  we  were  talking  a  bugle  blew. 
"  There 's  the  cook-house  bugle,"  said  Art. 
"  Come  along  and  have  some  dinner  with  us." 
He  took  some  tin  dishes  from  the  shelves  above 
the  beds,  gave  me  one,  and  we  joined  in  the  rush 
down  the  stairs  and  across  the  square  to  the 
cook  house. 

13 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

In  the  army,  the  cook  house  corresponds  to 
the  (lining-room  of  civilization.  B  Company 
cook  house  was  a  long,  narrow,  wooden  build- 
ing. On  each  side  of  a  middle  aisle  that  led  to 
the  kitchen  were  plain  Avooden  tables,  each  ac- 
commodating sixteen  men,  eight  on  each  side. 
When  we  arrived,  the  building  was  full.  When 
you  are  eating  as  the  guest  of  the  Government, 
there  is  no  hostess  to  reserve  for  you  the  choice 
portions ;  therefore  it  behooves  you  to  come  early. 
In  the  army,  if  you  are  not  there  at  the  beginning 
of  a  meal,  you  go  hungry.  Thus  are  inculcated 
habits  of  punctuality.  But  if  you  are  called  and 
the  meal  is  not  ready,  you  have  your  revenge. 
Two  hundred  and  sixty-two  men  of  B  Company 
were  showing  their  disapproval  of  the  cooks'  lack 
of  punctuality.  Screeches,  yells,  and  cat  cries 
rivaled  the  din  of  stamping  feet  and  the  bang- 
ing of  tin  dishes.  Occasionally  the  door  of  the 
kitchen  swung  open  and  afforded  a  glimpse  of 
three  sweating  cooks  and  their  group  of  help- 
ers, working  frenziedly.  Sometimes  the  noise 
stopped  long  enough  to  allow  some  spokesman  to 
express  his  opinion  of  the  cooks,  and  their  fitness 
for  their  jobs,  with  that  delightful  simplicity  and 
charming  candor  that  made  the  language  of  the 

14 


GETTING  THERE 

First  Newfoundland  Regiment  so  refreshing. 
Loud  applause  served  the  double  purpose  of  en- 
couraging the  speakers  and  drowning  the  reply 
of  the  incensed  cooks.  This  was  a  pity,  because 
the  language  of  an  army  cook  is  worth  hearing, 
and  very  enlightening.  Men  who  formerly 
prided  themselves  on  their  profanity  have  lis- 
tened, envious  and  subdued,  awed  by  the  origi- 
nality and  scope  of  a  cook's  vocabulary,  and 
thenceforth  quit,  realizing  their  own  amateurish- 
ness. Occasionally,  though,  one  of  the  cooks, 
stung  to  retort,  would  appear,  wiping  his  hands 
on  his  overalls,  and  in  a  few  well-chosen  phrases, 
cover  some  of  the  more  recent  exploits  of  the 
one  who  had  angered  him,  or  endeavor  to  clear 
his  own  character,  always  in  language  brilliant, 
fluent,  and  descriptive. 

But  the  longest  wait  must  come  to  an  end, 
and  at  last  the  door  of  the  kitchen  swung  open 
and  the  helpers  appeared.  Some  mysterious 
mess  fund  had  been  tapped,  and  that  day  dinner 
was  particularly  good.  First  came  soup,  then 
a  liberal  helping  of  roast  beef,  with  potatoes, 
tomatoes,  and  peas,  followed  by  plum  pudding. 
B  Company  soon  finished.  In  the  army,  dinner 
is  a  thing  not  of  ceremony,  but  of  necessity. 

15 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

I  did  not  wait  for  my  sandy -liaired  friend ;  his 
name,  I  gathered,  was  Art  Pratt.  He  and  a 
neighbor  were  adjusting  a  difference  regarding 
the  ownership  of  a  combination  knife,  fork,  and 
spoon.  I  found  my  way  back  to  the  room  marked 
"  Thirty-two  men."  Just  as  I  entered,  I  heard 
the  bugle  sound  the  "  half-hour  dress." 

All  about  the  room  men  were  busy  shining 
shoes,  polishing  buttons,  rolling  puttees,  and  ad- 
justing equipments.  This  took  time,  and  the 
half  hour  for  preparation  soon  passed.  In  the 
square  below,  at  the  sound  of  the  "  Fall  In," 
eleven  hundred  men  of  the  first  battalion  of  the 
First  Newfoundland  Regiment  sprang  briskly  to 
attention.  After  their  commanding  officer  had 
inspected  them,  the  battalion  formed  into  col- 
umn of  route.  As  the  tail  of  the  column  swung 
through  the  square,  I  joined  in.  A  short  march 
along  the  Aldershot  Road  brought  us  to  the 
dusty  parade  ground.  Here  we  were  drawn  up 
in  review  order,  to  await  the  inspecting  general. 
When  he  arrived,  he  rode  quickly  through  the 
lines,  then  ordered  the  men  to  be  formed  into 
a  three-sided  square.  From  the  center  of  this 
human  stadium  he  addressed  them. 

"  Men  of  the  First  Newfoundland  Regiment," 

16 


GETTING  THERE 

said  he,  "  a  week  ago  you  were  reviewed  by  His 
Majesty  the  King  and  by  Lord  Kitchener.  On 
that  day,  Lord  Kitchener  told  you  that  you  were 
just  the  men  he  needed  for  the  Dardanelles.  I 
have  been  deputed  to  tell  you  that  you  are  to 
embark  to-night.  You  have  come  many  miles  to 
help  us;  and  when  you  reach  the  Dardanelles, 
you  will  be  opposed  by  the  bravest  fighters  in 
the  world.  It  is  my  duty  and  my  pleasure  on 
behalf  of  the  British  Government  and  of  His 
Majesty  the  King  to  thank  you  and  to  wish  you 
God-speed." 

This  was  the  moment  the  Newfoundlanders 
had  been  waiting  for  for  nearly  a  year.  From 
eleven  hundred  throats  broke  forth  wave  upon 
wave  of  cheering.  Then  came  an  instant's  hush, 
the  bugle  band  played  the  general  salute,  and 
the  regiment  presented  arms.  Gravely  the  gen- 
eral acknowledged  the  compliment,  spurred  his 
horse,  and  rode  rapidly  away.  The  regiment  re- 
formed, marched  back  to  barracks,  and  dis- 
missed. 

I  joined  the  crowd  that  pressed  around  the 
board  on  which  were  posted  the  daily  orders. 
My  friend  Art  Pratt  was  acting  as  spokes- 
man. 

17 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

"  A  and  B  Companies  leave  here  at  eight  this 
evening,"  he  said.  "  C  and  D  Companies  an 
hour  later.  They  march  to  Aldershot  railway 
station,  and  entrain  there." 

I  left  the  gi'oup  around  the  board  and  walked 
over  to  the  office  of  the  adjutant.  He  was  busy 
giving  instructions  about  his  baggage. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "  what  do  you  want?" 

"  I  want  to  go  with  the  battalion  this  even- 
ing, sir,"  I  said. 

He  questioned  me ;  and  when  he  found  out  all 
the  facts,  told  me  that  I  could  n't  go.  I  did  n't 
wait  any  longer.  As  I  went  out  the  door,  I 
could  just  hear  him  murmur  something  about  my 
not  having  the  necessary  papers.  But  I  was  n't 
thinking  of  papers  just  then.  I  was  wondering 
how  I  could  get  away.  I  vowed  that  if  I  could 
possibly  do  it  I  would  go  with  the  battalion.  I 
was  passing  one  of  the  stairways  when  I  heard 
some  one  yell,  "  Is  that  you,  Corporal  Galli- 
shaw?  "  I  turned.  It  was  Sam  Hiscock,  one  of 
my  old  section. 

"  Hello,  Sam,"  I  said.  "  I  did  n't  know  where 
to  look  for  old  No.  11  section.  They  've  all  been 
changed  about  since  they  came  here." 

"  Come  up  this  way,"  said  Sam,  and  I  fol- 

18 


GETTING  THERE 

lowed  him  up  the  stairs  and  into  a  room  occu- 
pied by  the  men  of  No.  11  section,  my  old  sec- 
tion at  Stob's  Camp  in  Scotland. 

Disconsolately  I  told  them  my  plight,  and  dis- 
closed my  plan  guardedly.  Sam  Hiscock,  faith- 
ful and  loyal  to  his  section,  voiced  the  sentiment. 
"  Come  on  with  old  No.  11 ;  we  '11  look  after  you. 
All  you  have  to  do  is  hang  around  here,  and 
when  we  're  moving  off  just  fall  in  with  us,  and 
nobody  '11  notice  then ;  't  will  be  dark." 

"  The  big  trouble  is,"  I  said,  "  I  have  no  equip- 
ment, no  overcoat,  no  kit-bag;  in  fact,  no  any- 
thing." 

"  You  've  got  a  rain  coat,"  said  Pierce  Power, 
"  and  I  've  got  a  belt  you  can  have."  Another 
offered  a  piece  of  shoulder  strap,  and  some  one 
else  volunteered  to  show  me  where  a  pile  of 
equipments  were  kept  in  a  room.  I  followed  him 
out  to  the  room.  In  the  corner  a  man  was  sit- 
ting on  the  floor,  smoking.  He  was  the  guard 
over  the  equipments.  He  belonged  to  an  Eng- 
lish regiment,  and  so  did  the  equipments.  Sam 
Hiscock  engaged  him  in  conversation  for  a  few 
minutes.  The  topic  he  introduced  was  a  timely 
one:  beer.  While  Hiscock  and  the  guard  went 
to  the  canteen  to  do   some  research  work  in 

19 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

beverages,  I  took  liis  place  guarding  the  equip- 
ments. By  the  time  the  two  returned  I  had 
managed  to  acquire  a  passable  looking  kit.  I 
spent  the  rest  of  the  afternoon  going  around 
among  my  friends  and  telling  them  what  I  pro- 
posed to  do.  At  eight  o'clock  I  joined  the  crowd 
that  cheered  A  and  B  Companies  as  they  moved 
away,  in  charge  of  the  adjutant  and  the  colonel. 
When  the  major  called  C  and  D  Companies  to 
attention,  I  fell  in  with  my  old  section  C  Com- 
pany. The  lieutenant  in  charge  of  the  platoon 
I  was  with  saw  me,  but  in  the  dusk  he  could  not 
recognize  my  face.  I  was  thankful  for  the  con- 
venient darkness ;  and  because  it  was  fear  of  his 
invention  that  caused  it,  I  blessed  the  name  of 
Count  Zeppelin. 

"  Where  's  your  rifle?  "  asked  the  lieutenant. 

•*  Have  n't  got  one,  sir,"  I  said. 

The  lieutenant  called  the  platoon  sergeant. 
"  Sergeant,"  he  snapped,  "  get  that  man  a  rifle." 
The  sergeant  doubled  back  to  the  barracks  and 
returned  with  a  rifle.  The  lieutenant  moved 
away,  and  I  had  just  begun  to  congratulate  my- 
self, when  disaster  overtook  me.  The  platoon 
was  numbered  off.  There  was  one  man  too  many, 
and  of  course  I  was  the  man.     The  lieutenant 

20 


GETTING  THERE 

did  not  waste  any  time  in  vain  controversy.  He 
ordered  me  out  of  bis  platoon. 

"Where  shall  I  go?"  I  asked. 

"As  far  as  I  am  concerned,"  he  answered, 
"  you  can  go  straight  to  hell." 

I  left  his  platoon;  but  when  I  did,  I  carried 
with  me  the  precious  rifle.  The  sergeant,  a  thor- 
ough man,  had  been  thoughtful  enough  to  bring 
with  it  a  bayonet. 

The  time  had  now  come  to  risk  everything  on 
one  throw.  I  did.  In  the  army,  all  orders  from 
the  commanding  officer  of  a  regiment  are  trans- 
mitted through  the  adjutant.  I  knew  that  both 
the  colonel  and  the  adjutant  had  gone  an  hour 
ago,  and  could  not  now  be  reached.  So  I  walked 
up  to  Captain  March,  the  captain  of  D  Com- 
pany, saluted,  and  told  him  that  I  had  been  or- 
dered to  join  his  company. 

"  Ordered  by  whom?  "  he  asked. 

"  By  the  Adjutant,"  said  I,  brazenly. 

"  I  have  n't  had  any  orders  about  that,"  said 
Captain  March. 

Just  then.  Captain  O'Brien,  who  had  been  my 
company  commander  in  camp,  came  up.  I  think 
he  must  have  known  what  I  was  trying  to  do. 

"  If  the  Adjutant  said  so,  it 's  all  right,"  he 

21 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

said,  thus  leaving  the  burden  of  proof  on  me. 

"  Go  ahead  then,"  said  Captain  March ;  "  fall 
in." 

I  fell  in.  We  formed  up,  and  swung  out  of 
the  square  and  along  the  road  that  led  to  the 
station.  At  intervals,  where  a  street  lamp  threw 
a  subdued  glare,  crowds  cheered  us;  for  even 
Aldershot,  clearing  house  of  fighting  forces,  had 
not  yet  ceased  to  thrill  at  the  sight  of  men  leav- 
ing for  the  front.  Half  an  hour  after  we  left 
the  barracks,  we  were  all  safely  stowed  away  in 
the  train,  ten  men  in  each  of  the  compartment 
coaches.  Just  as  we  were  pulling  out,  a  soldier 
went  from  coach  to  coach,  shaking  hands  with 
all  the  men.  He  came  to  our  coach,  put  his  head 
in  through  the  window,  and  shook  hands  with 
each  man.  I  was  on  the  inside.  "  Good-by,  old 
chap,"  he  said,  then  gasped  in  astonishment. 
The  train  was  just  beginning  to  move.  It  was 
well  under  way  when  he  recovered  himself. 
"  Gallishaw,"  he  shouted,  "  you  're  under  arrest." 
It  was  the  sergeant-major  of  the  Record  Office 
I  had  quitted  in  London. 

During  war  time  in  England,  troop  trains  have 
the  right  of  way  over  all  others.  All  night  our 
train  rattled  along,  with  only  one  stop.     That 

22 


GETTING  THERE 

was  at  Exeter  where  we  were  given  a  lunch  sup- 
plied by  the  Mayoress  and  ladies  of  the  town. 
I  spent  the  night  under  the  seat;  for  I  thought 
the  sergeant-major  might  telegraph  to  haye  the 
train  searched  for  me.  Early  next  morning,  we 
shunted  onto  a  wharf  in  Devonport,  alongside 
the  converted  cruiser  Megantic.  Her  sides  were 
already  lined  with  soldiers ;  another  battalion  of 
eleven  hundred  men,  the  Warwickshire  Regi- 
ment, was  aboard.  As  soon  as  our  battalion  had 
detrained,  I  hid  behind  some  boxes  on  the  pier; 
and  when  the  last  of  the  men  were  walking  up 
the  gangplank.  I  joined  them.  A  steward 
handed  each  man  a  ticket,  bearing  the  number  of 
his  berth.  I  received  one  with  the  rest.  Since  I 
was  in  uniform,  the  steward  had  no  way  of  tell- 
ing whether  or  not  I  belonged  to  the  Newfound- 
landers. 

All  that  day  the  Megantic  stayed  in  port,  wait- 
ing for  darkness  to  begin  the  voyage.  In  the 
afternoon,  we  pulled  out  into  the  stream;  and 
at  sunset  began  threading  our  way  between 
buoys,  down  the  tortuous  channel  to  the  open  sea. 
A  couple  of  wicked-looking  destroyers  escorted 
us  out  of  Devonport;  but  as  soon  as  we  had 
cleared  the  harbor,  they  steamed  up  and  shot 

23 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

ahead  of  us.  The  next  morning  they  had  disap- 
peared. The  first  night  out  I  ate  nothing,  but 
the  next  day  I  managed  to  secure  a  ticket  to  the 
dining-room.  With  two  battalions  on  board, 
there  was  no  room  on  the  Mcgantic  for  drills; 
the  only  work  we  had  was  boat  drill  once  a  day. 
Each  man  was  assigned  his  place  in  the  life- 
boats. At  the  stern  of  the  ship  a  big  4.7  gun 
was  mounted;  and  at  various  other  points  were 
placed  five  or  six  machine  guns,  in  preparation 
for  a  possible  submarine  attack.  In  addition, 
we  depended  for  escape  on  our  speed  of  twenty- 
three  to  twenty-five  knots. 

During  the  boat  drills,  I  stayed  below  with 
the  Warwickshire  Regiment,  or,  as  we  called 
them,  the  Warwicks.  This  regiment  was  formed 
of  men  of  the  regular  army,  who  had  been  all 
through  the  first  gruelling  part  of  the  campaign, 
beginning  with  the  retreat  from  Mons,  to  the 
battle  of  the  Marne.  They  were  the  remnants 
of  "  French's  contemptible  little  army."  Every 
one  of  them  had  been  wounded  so  seriously  as 
to  be  unable  to  return  to  the  front.  Ordinarily 
they  would  have  been  discharged,  but  they  were 
men  whose  whole  lives  had  been  spent  in  the 
army.     Few  of  them  were  under  forty,  so  they 

24 


GETTING  THERE 

were  now  being  sent  to  Khartum  in  the  Sudan, 
for  garrison  duty.  At  night,  I  came  on  deck. 
In  the  submarine  area  ships  showed  no  lights, 
so  I  could  go  around  without  fear  of  discovery. 
The  only  people  I  had  to  avoid  were  the  officers, 
and  the  caste  system  of  the  army  kept  them  to 
their  own  part  of  the  ship.  The  men  I  knew 
would  sooner  cut  their  tongues  out  than  inform 
on  me. 

Just  before  sunset  of  the  third  night  out,  be- 
cause we  passed  several  ships,  we  knew  we  were 
approaching  land.  At  nine  o'clock,  we  were  di- 
rectly opposite  the  Rock  of  Gibraltar.  After 
we  had  left  Gibraltar  behind,  all  precautions 
were  doubled;  we  were  now  in  the  zone  of  sub- 
marine operations.  Ordinarily  we  steamed 
along  at  eighteen  or  nineteen  knots;  but  the 
night  before  we  fetched  Malta,  we  zigzagged 
through  the  darkness,  with  engines  throbbing  at 
top  speed,  until  the  entire  ship  quivered  and 
shook,  and  every  bolt  groaned  in  protest.  With 
nearly  three  thousand  lives  in  his  care,  our  cap- 
tain ran  no  risks.  But  the  night  passed  without 
incident.  The  next  day,  at  noon,  we  were  safe 
in  one  of  the  fortified  harbors  of  Malta. 

After  we  left  Malta,  since  I  knew  I  could  not 

25 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

then  be  sent  back  to  England,  I  reported  myself 
to  the  adjutant.  He  and  the  colonel  were  in 
the  orderly  room,  as  the  office  of  a  regiment  is 
called.  The  sergeant-major  in  charge  of  the 
orderly  room  had  been  taken  ill  two  or  three 
days  before,  and  the  other  men  had  been  swamped 
by  the  extra  rush  of  clerical  work,  incident  ou 
the  departure  of  a  regiment  for  the  front.  Per- 
haps this  had  a  good  deal  to  do  with  the  lenient 
treatment  I  received.  The  adjutant  came  to  the 
point  at  once.  That  is  a  characteristic  of  ad- 
jutants. 

"  Gallishaw,"  he  said,  "  do  you  w^ant  to  come 
to  work  here?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  I  answered. 

"  All  right,"  he  said ;  "  you  're  posted  to  B 
Company." 

That  night,  it  appeared  in  orders  that  "  Lance- 
Corporal  Gallishaw  has  embarked  with  the  bat- 
talion, and  is  posted  to  B  Company  for  pay." 
The  only  comment  the  colonel  made  on  the  af- 
fair was  to  say  to  the  adjutant,  "  I  've  often  heard 
of  men  leaving  a  ship  when  she  is  going  on  active 
service,  but  I  've  never  heard  of  men  stowing 
away  to  get  there."  Thus  I  went  to  work  in  the 
orderly  room ;  and  in  the  orderly  room  I  stayed 

26 


n 
n 

P 
a 


o 


o 

p 
c 

& 
5' 
cp 

'a 
n 


GETTING  THEKE 

until  we  arrived  at  Alexandria,  Egypt,  and  en- 
trained for  Cairo.  At  Heliopolis,  on  the  desert 
near  Cairo,  we  went  into  camp.  There  I  joined 
my  company  and  drilled  with  it,  and  bade 
good-by  to  the  orderly  room  and  all  its  works. 
We  stayed  in  Egypt  only  ten  days  or  so  to 
get  accustomed  to  the  heat,  and  to  change  our 
heavy  uniforms  and  hats  for  the  light-weight 
duck  uniforms  and  sun  helmets,  suitable  for  the 
climate  on  the  Peninsula  of  Gallipoli.  The  heat 
at  Heliopolis  was  too  intense  to  permit  of  our 
drilling  very  much.  In  the  very  early  morning, 
before  the  sun  was  really  strong,  we  marched 
out  a  mile  across  the  desert,  skirmished  about 
for  an  hour  or  so,  and  returned  to  camp  for 
breakfast.  The  rest  of  the  day  we  were  free. 
Ordinarily  we  spent  the  morning  sweltering  in 
our  marquees,  saying  unprintable  and  uncom- 
plimentary things  about  the  Egyptian  weather. 
In  the  late  afternoon  and  evening,  we  went  to 
Cairo.  About  a  mile  from  where  we  were 
camped,  a  street  car  line  ran  into  the  city.  To 
get  to  it  we  generally  rode  across  the  desert  on 
donkeys.  Every  afternoon,  as  soon  as  we  had 
finished  dinner,  little  native  boys  pestered  us 
to  hire  donkeys.     They  were  the  same  boys  who 

29 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

poked  their  heads  into  our  marquees  each  morn- 
ing and  implored  us  to  buy  papers.  We  needed 
no  reveille  in  Egypt.  The  thing  that  woke  us 
was  a  native  yelling  "  Eengaleesh  paper,  veera 
good;  veera  good,  veera  nice;  fifty  thousand 
Eengaleesh  killed  in  the  Dardanelle;  veera  good, 
veera  nice." 

About  a  quarter  of  a  mile  across  the  desert 
from  us  was  a  camp  for  convalescent  Australians 
and  New  Zealanders.  As  soon  as  the  Austra- 
lians found  that  we  were  colonials  like  them- 
selves, they  opened  their  hearts  to  us  in  the 
breezy  way  that  is  characteristically  Australian. 
There  is  a  Canadian  hospital  unit  in  Cairo.  One 
medical  school  from  Ontario  enlisted  almost  en 
masse.  Professors  and  pupils  carry  on  work 
and  lectures  in  Egypt  just  as  they  did  in  Canada. 
It  was  not  an  uncommon  thing  to  see  on  a  Cairo 
street  a  group  composed  of  an  Australian,  a  New 
Zealander,  a  Canadian,  and  a  Newfoundlander. 
And  once  we  managed  to  rake  up  a  South  Afri- 
can. The  clean-cut,  alert-looking,  bronzed  Aus- 
tralians, who  impressed  you  as  having  been 
raised  far  from  cities,  made  a  tremendous  hit 
with  the  Newfoundlanders.  One  chap  who  was 
returning  home  minus  a  leg,  gave  us  a  young 

30 


GETTING  THERE 

wallaby  that  he  had  brought  with  him  from 
Australia.  One  of  our  boys  had  a  small  don- 
key, not  much  larger  than  a  collie  dog,  that  he 
bought  from  a  native  for  a  few  shillings.  The 
men  vied  with  each  other  in  feeding  the  animals. 
Some  fellows  took  the  kangaroo  one  evening,  and 
he  acquired  a  taste  for  beer.  The  donkey's  taste 
for  the  same  beverage  was  already  well  devel- 
oped. After  that,  the  two  were  the  center  of 
convivial  gatherings.  The  wallaby  got  drunk 
faster,  but  the  donkey  generally  got  away  with 
more  beer.  When  we  were  certain  we  were  to 
go  to  the  front,  a  meeting  was  held  in  our  mar- 
quee. It  was  unanimously  decided  that  not  a 
man  was  to  take  a  cent  with  him  —  everybody 
was  to  leave  for  the  front  absolutely  broke  — "  to 
avoid  litigation  among  our  heirs,"  the  spokesman 
said.  The  wallaby  and  the  donkey  benefited. 
The  night  before  we  left  the  desert  camp,  they 
were  wined  and  dined.  The  next  morning,  the 
kangaroo,  bearing  unmistakable  marks  of  his  de- 
bauch, showed  up  to  say  good-by.  We  were  not 
allowed  to  take  him  with  us,  and  he  was  rele- 
gated to  the  Zoo  in  Cairo.  The  donkey,  who  had 
been  steadily  mixing  his  drinks  from  four  o'clock 
the  afternoon  before,  did  not  see  us  go.     When 

31 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

we  moved  off,  he  was  lying  unconscious  under 
one  of  the  transport  wagons. 

Although  we  took  advantage  of  every  oppor- 
tunity for  pleasure,  we  had  not  lost  sight  of  our 
real  object.  We  were  grateful  for  a  chance  to 
visit  the  Pyramids,  and  enjoyed  our  meeting  with 
the  men  from  the  Antipodes,  but  Egypt  soon 
palled.  The  Newfoundlanders'  comment  was  al- 
ways the  same.  "  It 's  some  place,  but  it  is  n't 
the  front.  We  came  to  fight,  not  for  sightsee- 
ing." 


32 


CHAPTER  II 

THERE 

IT  was  with  eleven  hundred  eager  spirits  that 
I  lined  up  on  a  Sunday  evening  early  in 
August,  1915,  on  the  deck  of  a  troopship,  in 
Mudros  Harbor,  which  is  the  center  of  the  his- 
toric island  of  Lemnos,  about  fifty  miles  from 
Gallipoli.  Around  us  lay  all  sorts  of  ships,  from 
ocean  leviathans  to  tiny  launches  and  rowboats. 
There  were  gray  and  black-painted  troopers, 
their  rails  lined  with  soldiers,  immense  four-fun- 
neled  men-o'-war,  and  brightly  lighted,  white 
hospital  ships,  with  their  red  crosses  outlined  in 
electric  lights.  The  landing  officer  left  us  in  a 
little  motor  boat.  We  watched  him  glide  slowly 
shoreward,  where  we  could  faintly  discern 
through  the  dusk  the  white  of  the  tents  that  were 
the  headquarters  for  the  army  at  Lemnos.  To 
the  right  of  the  tents,  we  could  see  the  hospital 
for  wounded  Australians  and  New  Zealanders. 
A  French  battleship  dipped  its  flag  as  it  passed, 
and  our  boys  sang  the  Marseillaise. 

33 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

A  mail  that  had  come  that  day  was  being 
sorted.  While  we  waited,  each  man  was  served 
with  his  "  iron  ration."  This  consisted  of  a  one- 
pound  tin  of  pressed  corn  beef  —  the  much-hated 
and  much-maligned  "  bully  beef  " —  a  bag  of  bis- 
cuits, and  a  small  tin  that  held  two  tubes  of 
"Oxo,"  with  tea  and  sugar  in  specially  con- 
structed air-and-damp-proof  envelopes.  This 
was  an  emergency  ration,  to  be  kept  in  case  of 
direst  need,  and  to  be  used  only  to  ward  off 
actual  starvation.  After  that,  we  were  given 
our  ammunition,  two  hundred  and  fifty  rounds 
to  each  man. 

But  what  brought  home  to  me  most  the  se- 
riousness of  our  venture  was  the  solitary  sheet 
of  letter  paper  with  its  envelope,  that  was  given 
to  every  man,  to  be  used  for  a  parting  letter 
home.  For  some  poor  chaps  it  was  indeed  the 
last  letter.  Then  we  went  over  the  side,  and 
aboard  the  destroyer  that  was  to  take  us  to  Suvla 
Bay. 

The  night  had  been  well  chosen  for  a  surprise 
landing.  There  was  no  moon,  but  after  a  little 
while  the  stars  came  out.  Away  on  the  port  bow 
we  could  see  the  dusky  outline  of  land ;  and  once, 
when  we  were  about  half  way,  an  airship  soared 

34 


THERE 

phantom-like  out  of  the  night,  poised  over  us  a 
short  time,  then  ducked  out  of  sight.  At  first 
the  word  ran  along  the  line  that  it  was  a  hostile 
airship,  but  a  few  inquiries  soon  reassured  us. 

Suddenly  we  changed  our  direction.  We  were 
near  Cape  Hellas,  which  is  the  lowest  point  of 
the  Peninsula  of  Gallipoli.  Under  Sir  Ian  Ham- 
ilton's scheme,  it  was  here  that  a  decoy  party 
was  to  land  to  draw  the  Turks  from  Anzac.  Si- 
multaneously, an  overwhelming  force  was  to  land 
at  Suvla  Bay  and  at  Anzac,  to  make  a  surprise 
attack  on  the  Turks'  right  flank.  Presently,  we 
were  going  up  shore  past  the  wrecked  steamer 
River  Clyde,  the  famous  "  Ship  of  Troy,"  from 
the  side  of  which  the  Australians  had  issued  after 
the  ship  had  been  beached ;  past  the  shore  hitherto 
nameless,  but  now  known  as  Anzac.  Australian, 
New  Zealand,  Army  Corps,  those  five  letters 
stand  for;  but  to  those  of  us  who  have  been  on 
Gallipoli,  they  stand  for  a  great  deal  more :  they 
represent  the  achievement  of  the  impossible. 
They  are  a  glorious  record  of  sacrifice,  reckless 
devotion,  and  unselfish  courage.  To  put  each 
letter  there  cost  the  men  from  Australasia  ten 
thousand  of  their  best  soldiers. 

And  so  we  edged  our  way  along,  fearing  mines, 

35 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

or,  even  more  disastrous  than  mines,  discovery 
by  the  enemy.  From  the  Australasians  over  at 
Anzac,  we  could  hear  desultory  rifle  fire.  Once 
we  heard  the  boom  of  some  big  guns  that  seemed 
almost  alongside  the  ship.  Four  hours  it  took 
us  to  go  fifty  miles,  in  a  destroyer  that  could 
make  thirty-two  knots  easily.  By  one  o'clock, 
the  stars  had  disappeared,  and  for  perhaps  three 
quarters  of  an  hour  we  edged  our  way  through 
pitch  darkness.  We  gradually  slowed  down, 
until  w^e  had  almost  stopped.  Something 
scraped  along  our  side.  Somebody  said  it  was 
a  floating  mine,  but  it  turned  out  to  be  a  buoy 
that  had  been  put  there  by  the  navy  to  mark  the 
channel.  Out  of  the  gloom  directly  in  front 
some  one  hailed,  and  our  people  answered. 

"Who  have  you  on  board?"  we  heard  the 
casual  English  voice  say.  Then  came  the  reply 
from  our  colonel : 

"  Newfoundlanders." 

There  was  to  me  something  reassuring  about 
that  cool,  self-contained  voice  out  of  the  night. 
It  made  me  feel  that  we  were  being  expected 
and  looked  after. 

"  Move  up  those  boats,"  I  heard  the  English 
voice  say,  and  from  right  under  our  bow  a  naval 

36 


i 


II    ' 


'.(  ■    y-  ' 


u 


% 


»  A. 


a 


3 


> 


a 

3 


c 


a 

.-3 


:v  %  ^ssj^ir  ^ 


a) 


THERE 

launch,  with  a  middy  in  charge,  swerved  along- 
side. In  a  little  while  it,  with  its  string  of 
boats,  was  securely  fastened. 

Just  before  we  went  into  the  boats,  the  -ad- 
jutant passed  me. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  you  've  got  your  wish.  In 
a  few  minutes  you  '11  be  ashore.  Let  me  know 
how  you  like  it  when  you  're  there  a  little  while." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  I  said.  But  I  never  had  a  chance 
to  tell  him.  The  first  shrapnel  shell  fired  at  the 
Newfoundlanders  burst  near  him,  and  he  had 
scarcely  landed  when  he  was  taken  off  the  Penin- 
sula, seriously  wounded. 

In  a  short  time  we  had  all  filed  into  the  boats. 
There  was  no  noise,  no  excitement ;  just  now  and 
then  a  whispered  command.  I  was  in  a  tug  with 
about  twenty  others  who  formed  the  rear  guard. 
The  wind  had  freshened  considerably,  and  was 
now  blowing  so  hard  that  our  unwieldy  tug  dared 
not  risk  a  landing.  We  came  in  near  enough 
to  watch  the  other  boats.  About  twenty  yards 
from  shore  they  grounded.  We  could  see  the 
boys  jump  over  the  side  and  wade  ashore. 
Through  the  half  darkness  we  could  barely  dis- 
tinguish them  forming  up  on  the  beach.  Soon 
they  were  lost  to  sight. 

39 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

During  the  Turkish  summer,  dawn  comes 
early.  We  transhipped  from  our  tug  to  a 
lighter.  When  it  grounded  on  the  beach,  day 
was  just  breaking.  Daylight  disclosed  a  steeply 
sloping  beach,  scarred  with  ravines.  The  place 
where  we  landed  ran  between  sheer  cliffs.  A 
short  distance  up  the  hill  we  could  see  our  bat- 
talion digging  themselves  in.  To  the  left  I 
could  see  the  boats  of  another  battalion.  Even 
as  I  watched,  the  enemy's  artillery  located  them. 
It  was  the  first  shell  I  had  ever  heard.  It  came 
over  the  hill  close  to  me,  screeching  through  the 
air  like  an  express  train  going  over  a  bridge  at 
night.  Just  over  the  boat  I  was  watching  it 
exploded.  A  few  of  the  soldiers  slipped  quietly 
from  their  seats  to  the  bottom  of  the  boat.  At 
first  I  did  not  realize  that  anybody  had  been  hit. 
There  was  no  sign  of  anything  having  happened 
out  of  the  ordinary,  no  confusion.  As  soon  as 
the  boat  touched  the  beach,  the  wounded  men 
were  carried  by  their  mates  up  the  hill  to  a  tem- 
porary dressing  station.  The  first  shell  was  the 
beginning  of  a  bombardment.  "  Beachy  Bill," 
a  battery  that  we  were  to  become  better  ac- 
quainted with,  was  in  excellent  shape.  Every 
few  minutes  a  shell  burst  close  to  us.     Shrapnel 

40 


THERE 

bullets  and  fragments  of  shell  casing  forced  us 
to  huddle  under  the  baggage  for  protection.  A 
little  to  the  left,  some  Australians  were  severely 
punished.  Shell  after  shell  burst  among  them. 
A  regiment  of  Sikh  troops,  mule  drivers,  and 
transport  men  were  caught  half  way  up  the 
beach.  Above  the  din  of  falling  shrapnel  and 
the  shriek  of  flying  shells  rose  the  piercing 
scream  of  wounded  mules.  The  Newfound- 
landers did  not  escape.  That  morning  "  Beachy 
Bill's "  gunners  played  no  favorites.  On  all 
sides  the  shrapnel  came  in  a  shower.  Less  often 
a  cloud  of  thick  black  smoke,  and  a  hole  twenty 
feet  deep  showed  the  landing  place  of  a  high 
explosive  shell.  The  most  amazing  thing  was  the 
coolness  of  the  men.  The  Newfoundlanders 
might  have  been  practising  trench  digging  in 
camp  in  Scotland.  When  a  man  was  hit,  some 
one  gave  him  first  aid,  directed  the  stretcher 
bearers  where  to  find  him,  and  resumed  digging. 
About  nine,  I  was  told  off  to  go  to  the  beach 
with  one  man  to  guard  the  baggage.  We  picked 
our  way  carefully,  taking  advantage  of  every  bit 
of  cover.  About  half  way  down,  we  heard  the 
warning  shriek  of  a  shell,  and  threw  ourselves 
on   our    faces.     Almost   instantly    we   were   in 

41 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

the  center  of  a  perfect  whirlwind  of  shells. 
"  Beachy  Bill "  had  just  located  a  lot  of  Aus- 
tralians, digging  themselves  in  about  fifty  yards 
away  from  us.  The  first  few  shells  fell  short, 
but  only  the  first  few.  After  that,  the  Turkish 
gunners  got  the  range,  and  the  Australians  had 
to  move,  followed  by  the  shells.  As  soon  as  we 
were  sure  that  the  danger  was  over,  we  contin- 
ued to  the  beach,  and  aboard  the  lighter  that 
contained  our  baggage.  We  had  not  had  a 
chance  to  get  any  breakfast  before  we  started, 
but  the  sergeant  of  our  platoon  had  promised 
to  send  a  corporal  and  another  man  to  relieve 
us  in  two  hours.  About  twelve  o'clock  the 
sergeant  appeared,  to  tell  me  to  wait  until  one 
o'clock,  when  I  should  be  relieved.  He  brought 
the  news  that  the  adjutant  had  been  wounded 
seriously  in  the  arm  and  leg.  At  the  very  be- 
ginning of  the  bombardment,  a  shell  had  hit  him. 
About  forty  of  our  men  had  been  hit,  the  ser- 
geant said,  and  the  regiment  was  preparing  to 
change  its  position.  He  showed  us  the  new  po- 
sition, and  told  us  to  rejoin  there  as  soon  as 
relieved. 

About  a  hundred  yards  to  the  right  of  us  rose 
a  cliff  that  prevented  our  boat  being  seen  by  the 

42 


THERE 

enemy.  The  Turks  were  devoting  their  attention 
to  some  boats  landing  well  to  the  left  of  us.  The 
officer  in  charge  of  landing  was  taking  advan- 
tage of  this  and  had  a  gang  near  us  working  on 
dugouts  for  stores  and  supplies.  Right  under 
the  cliffs  a  detachment  of  engineers  were  build- 
ing a  landing  as  coolly  as  if  they  were  at  home. 
Every  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes,  to  show  us  that 
he  was  still  doing  business,  "  Beachy  Bill "  sent 
over  a  few  shells  in  our  direction.  The  gunners 
could  not  see  us,  but  they  wanted  to  warn  us 
not  to  presume  too  much.  As  soon  as  the  first 
shell  landed  near  us,  the  officer  in  charge 
shouted  nonchalantly,  "  Take  cover,  everybody." 
He  waited  until  he  was  certain  every  man  had 
found  a  hiding  place,  then  effaced  himself.  The 
courage  of  the  officers  of  the  English  army 
amounts  almost  to  foolhardiness.  The  men  to 
relieve  us  did  not  arrive  at  once,  as  promised. 
The  hot  afternoon  passed  slowly.  Each  hour 
was  a  repetition  of  the  preceding  one.  "  Beachy 
Bill  "  was  surpassing  himself.  From  far  out  in 
the  bay  our  warships  replied. 

About  five  o'clock  I  espied  one  of  the  New- 
foundland lieutenants  a  little  way  up  the  beach 
in  charge  of  a  party  of  twenty  men.     I  signaled 

43 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

to  him  and  he  came  down  to  our  boat.  The 
party  bad  come  to  unload  the  baggage.  When 
I  asked  the  lieutenant  about  being  relieved,  he 
told  me  that  he  had  sent  a  corporal  and  one 
man  down  about  one  o'clock,  and  ordered  me 
back  to  the  regiment  to  report  to  Lieutenant 
Steele.  Half  way  up  the  beach  we  found  Lieu- 
tenant Steele.  The  corporal  sent  down  to  re- 
lieve me,  he  told  me,  had  been  hit  by  a  shell  just 
after  he  left  his  dugout.  The  man  with  him 
had  not  been  heard  from.  I  went  back  to  the 
beach,  and  found  the  man  perched  up  on  top 
of  the  cliff  to  the  right  of  the  lighter.  He  had 
been  waiting  there  all  the  afternoon  for  the  cor- 
poral to  join  him. 

Having  solved  the  mystery  of  the  failure  of 
the  relief  party,  I  returned  to  my  platoon.  Their 
first  stopping  place  had  proved  untenable.  All 
day  they  had  been  subjected  to  a  merciless  and 
devastating  shelling,  and  their  first  day  of  w^ar 
had  cost  them  sixty-five  men.  They  were  now 
dug  in  in  a  new  and  safer  position.  They  were 
only  waiting  for  darkness  to  advance  to  reinforce 
the  firing  line  that  was  now  about  four  miles 
ahead.  Since  to  get  to  our  firing  line  we  had  to 
cross  the  dried-up  bed  of  a  salt  lake,  no  move 

44 


THERE 

could  be  made  in  daylight.  That  evening  we 
received  our  ration  of  rum,  and  formed  up  si- 
lently in  a  long  line  two  deep,  beside  our  dug- 
outs. I  fell  in  with  my  section,  beside  Art 
Pratt,  the  sandy-haired  chap  I  had  met  in  Alder- 
shot.  He  had  been  cleaning  his  rifle  that  after- 
noon when  a  shell  landed  right  in  his  dugout, 
wounded  the  man  next  him,  knocked  the  bolt  of 
the  rifle  out  of  his  hand,  but  left  him  unhurt. 
He  accepted  it  as  an  omen  that  he  would  come 
out  all  right,  and  was  grinning  delightedly  while 
he  confided  to  me  his  narrow  escape,  and  was  as 
happy  as  a  schoolboy  at  the  thought  of  getting 
into  action. 

Under  cover  of  darkness  we  moved  away  si- 
lently, until  we  came  to  the  border  of  the  Salt 
Lake.  Here  we  extended,  and  crossed  it  in  open 
order,  then  through  three  miles  of  knee  high, 
prickly  underbrush,  to  where  our  division  was 
entrenched.  Our  orders  were  to  reinforce  the 
Irish.  The  Irish  sadlv  needed  reinforcing. 
Some  of  them  had  been  on  the  Peninsula  for 
months.  Many  of  them  are  still  there.  From 
the  beach  to  the  firing  line  is  not  over  four 
miles,  but  it  is  a  ghastly  four  miles  of  graveyard. 
Everywhere  along  the  route  are  small  wooden 

45 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

crosses,  mute  record  of  advances.  Where  the 
crosses  are  thickest,  there  the  fighting  was  fierc- 
est; and  where  the  fighting  was  fiercest,  there 
were  the  Irish.  On  every  cross,  besides  a  man's 
name  and  the  date  of  his  death,  is  the  name  of 
his  regiment.  No  other  regiments  have  so  many 
crosses  as  the  Dublins  and  the  Miinsters.  And 
where  the  shrapnel  flew  so  fast  that  bodies  man- 
gled beyond  hope  of  identity  were  buried  in  a 
common  grave,  there  ^Iso  are  the  Dublins  and 
the  Munsters ;  and  the  cross  over  them  reads,  "  In 
Memory  of  Unknown  Comrades." 

The  line  on  the  left  was  held  by  the  Twenty- 
ninth  Division;  the  Dublins,  the  Munsters,  the 
King's  Own  Scottish  Borderers,  and  the  New- 
foundlanders made  up  the  Eighty-eighth  Bri- 
gade. The  Newfoundlanders  were  reinforce- 
ments. From  the  very  first  day  of  the  Gallipoli 
campaign,  the  other  three  regiments  had  formed 
part  of  what  General  Sir  Ian  Hamilton  in  his 
report  calls  "  The  incomparable  Twenty-ninth 
Division."  When  the  first  landing  was  made, 
this  division,  with  the  New  Zealanders,  pene- 
trated to  the  top  of  Achi  Baba,  the  hill  that 
commanded  the  Narrows.  For  forty -eight  hours 
the  result  was  in  doubt.     The  British  attacked 

46 


H 

o 

o 


ffl 

i-j 

C- 

P 

B 

«^ 

<r 

p 

O 
>-« 

r*- 

rt 

p' 

D 

5' 

cr 

p 
n 
cr 


.ilK-'  ^i  <*  ■ 


THERE 

with  bayonet  and  bombs,  were  driven  back,  and 
repeatedly  reattacked.  The  New  Zealanders 
finally  succeeded  in  reaching  the  top,  followed 
by  the  Eighty-eighth  Brigade.  The  Irish  fought 
on  the  tracks  of  a  railroad  that  leads  into  Con- 
stantinople. At  the  end  of  forty-eight  hours  of 
attacks  and  counter  attacks,  the  position  was 
considered  secure.  The  worn-out  soldiers  were 
relieved  and  went  into  dugouts.  Then  the  re- 
lieving troops  were  attacked  by  an  overwhelming 
hostile  force,  and  the  hill  was  lost.  A  battery 
placed  on  that  hill  could  have  shelled  the  Nar- 
rows and  opened  to  our  ships  the  way  to  Con- 
stantinople. The  hill  was  never  retaken.  When 
reinforcements  came  up  it  was  too  late.  The  re- 
inforcements lost  their  way.  In  his  report.  Gen- 
eral Hamilton  attributes  our  defeat  to  "  fatal  in- 
ertia." Just  how  fatal  was  that  inertia  was 
known  only  to  those  who  formed  some  of  the 
burial  parties. 

After  the  first  forty-eight  hours  we  'settled 
down  to  regular  trench  warfare.  The  routine 
was  four  days  in  the  trenches,  eight  days  in  rest 
dugouts,  four  days  in  the  trenches  again,  and  so 
forth,  although  three  or  four  months  later  our 
ranks  were  so  depleted  that  we  stayed  in  eight 

49 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

days  and  rested  only  four.  We  had  expected 
four  days'  rest  after  our  first  trip  to  the  firiug 
line,  but  at  the  end  of  two  days  came  word  of 
a  determined  advance  of  the  enemy.  We  ar- 
rived just  in  time  to  beat  it  off.  Our  trenches 
instead  of  being  at  the  top  were  at  the  foot  of 
the  hill  that  meant  so  much  to  us. 

The  ground  here  was  a  series  of  four  or  five 
hog-back  ridges,  about  a  hundred  yards  apart. 
Behind  these  towered  the  hill  that  was  our  ob- 
jective. From  the  nearest  ridge,  about  seven 
hundred  yards  in  front  of  us,  the  Turks  had  all 
that  day  coustantly  issued  in  mass  formation. 
During  that  attack  we  were  repaid  for  the  havoc 
wrought  by  Beachy  Bill,  As  soon  as  the  Turks 
topped  the  crest,  they  were  subjected  to  a  de- 
moralizing rain  of  shell  from  the  navy  and  from 
our  artillery.  Against  the  hazy  blue  of  the  sky- 
line we  could  see  the  dark  mass  clearly  silhou- 
etted. Every  few  seconds,  when  a  shell  landed 
in  the  middle  of  the  approaching  columns,  the 
sides  of  the  column  would  bulge  outward  for  an 
instant,  then  close  in  again.  Meanwhile,  every 
man  in  our  trenches  stood  on  the  firing  platform, 
head  and  shoulders  above  the  parapet,  with  fixed 
bayonet  and  loaded  rifle,  waiting  for  the  order 

50 


THERE 

to  begin  firing.  Still  the  Turks  came  on,  big, 
black,  bewhiskered  six  footers,  reforming  ranks 
and  filling  up  their  gaps  with  fresh  men.  Now 
they  were  only  six  hundred  yards  away.  But 
still  there  was  no  order  to  open  fire.  It  was  un- 
canny. At  five  hundred  yards  our  fire  was  still 
withheld.  When  the  order  came,  "  At  four  hun- 
dred yards,  rapid  fire,"  everybody  was  tingling 
with  excitement.  Still  the  Turks  came  on,  mag- 
nificently determined,  but  it  was  too  desperate  a 
venture.  The  chances  against  them  were  too 
great,  our  artillery  and  machine  gun  fire  too  de- 
structively accurate.  Some  few  Turks  reached 
almost  to  our  trenches,  only  to  be  stopped  by 
rifle  bullets.  "  Allah !  Allah !  "  yelled  the  Turks, 
as  they  came  on.  A  sweating,  grimly  happy  ma- 
chine gun  sergeant  was  shouting  to  the  Turkish 
army  in  general,  "  It 's  not  a  damn  bit  of  good 
to  yell  to  Allah  now."  Our  artillery  opened  huge 
gaps  in  their  lines,  our  machine  guns  piled  them 
dead  in  the  ranks  where  they  stood.  Our  own 
casualties  were  very  slight;  but  of  the  waves  of 
Turks  that  surged  over  the  crest  all  that  day, 
only  a  mere  shattered  remnant  ever  straggled 
back  to  their  own  lines. 

That  was  the  last  big  attack  the  Turks  made. 

51 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

From  that  time  on,  it  was  virtually  two  armies 
in  a  state  of  siege.  That  was  the  first  night  the 
Newfoimdlanders  went  into  the  trenches  as  a 
unit.  A  and  B  Companies  held  the  firing  line, 
C  and  D  were  in  the  support  trenches.  Before 
that,  they  filled  up  gaps  in  the  Dublins  or  in  the 
Munsters,  or  in  the  King's  Own  Scottish  Bor- 
derers. These  regiments  were  our  tutors. 
Mostly  they  were  composed  of  veterans  who  had 
put  in  years  of  training  in  Egypt  or  in  India. 
The  Irish  were  jolly,  laughing  men  with  a  soft 
brogue,  and  an  amazing  sense  of  humor.  The 
Scotch  were  dour,  silent  men,  who  wasted  few 
words.  Some  of  the  Scotchmen  were  young  fel- 
lows who  had  been  recruited  in  Scotland  after 
war  broke  out.  One  of  these  chaps  shared  my 
watch  with  me  the  first  night.  At  dark,  sentry 
groups  were  formed,  three  reliefs  of  two  men 
each ;  these  two  men  stood  with  their  heads  over 
the  parapet  watching  for  any  movement  in  the 
no  man's  land  between  the  lines;  that  accounts 
for  the  surprisingly  large  number  of  men  one 
sees  wounded  in  the  head.  The  Scottie  and  I 
stood  close  enough  together  to  carry  on  a  con- 
versation in  whispers.  It  turned  out  that  he 
had  been  training  in  Scotland  at  the  same  camp 

52 


THERE 

where  the  Newfoundlanders  were.  He  had  been 
on  the  Peninsula  since  April,  and  was  all  in 
from  dysentery  and  lack  of  food.  "  Nae  meat/' 
was  the  laconic  way  he  expressed  it.  Like  every 
Scotchman  since  the  world  began,  he  answered 
to  the  name  of  "  Mac."  He  pointed  out  to  me 
the  position  of  the  enemy  trenches. 

"  It 's  just  aboot  fower  hundred  yairds,"  he 
said,  "  but  you  '11  no  get  a  chance  to  fire ;  there  's 
wurrkin'  pairties  oot  the  nicht."  Then  as  an 
afterthought,  he  added  gloomily,  "  There 's  no 
chance  of  your  gettin'  hit  either." 

"  Why,"  I  asked  him  in  astonishment,  "  you 
don't  want  to  get  hit,  do  you?  " 

Mac  looking  at  me  pityingly.  "  Man,"  he 
burst  out,  "  when  ye  're  here  as  long  as  I  've  been 
here,  ye  '11  be  prayin'  fer  a  '  Blighty  one.' " 

Blighty  is  the  Tommies'  nickname  for  London, 
and  a  "  Blighty  one  "  is  a  wound  that 's  serious 
enough  to  cause  your  return  to  London. 

For  a  few  minutes  Mac  continued  looking  over 
the  parapet.  Without  turning  his  head,  he  said 
to  me :  "  I  '11  gie  ye  five  poond,  if  ye  '11  shoot  me 
through  the  airm  or  the  fut."  When  a  Scotch- 
man who  is  getting  only  a  shilling  a  day  offers 
you  five  pounds,  it  is  for  something  very  desir- 

53 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

able.  Before  I  had  a  chance  to  take  him  up  on 
this  handsome  offer,  my  attention  was  attracted 
by  the  appearance  of  a  light  just  a  little  in  front 
of  where  Mac  had  said  the  enemy  trench  was 
located.     I  grabbed  my  gun  excitedly. 

"  Dinna  fire,  lad,"  cautioned  Mac.  "  We  have 
a  wurrkin'  pairty  oot  just  in  front.  Ye  would  na 
hit  anything  if  ye  did.  'T  is  only  wastin'  bul- 
lets to  fire  at  night." 

For  almost  an  hour  I  continued  to  watch  the 
light  as  it  moved  about.  It  was  a  party  of 
Turks,  Mac  explained,  seeking  their  dead  for 
burial.  When  I  was  relieved  for  a  couple  of 
hours'  sleep  they  were  still  there. 

Just  where  I  was  posted,  the  trench  was  trav- 
ersed ;  that  is,  from  the  parapet  there  ran  at  right 
angles,  for  about  six  feet,  a  barricade  of  sand- 
bags, that  formed  the  upright  line  of  a  figure  T. 
The  angle  made  by  this  traverse  gave  some  pro- 
tection from  the  wind  that  swept  through  the 
trench.  Here  I  spread  my  blanket.  The  night 
was  bitterly  cold,  and  I  shivered  for  lack  of  an 
overcoat.  In  coming  away  hurriedly  from  Lon- 
don, I  did  not  take  an  overcoat  with  me.  In 
Egypt,  it  had  never  occurred  to  me  that  I  should 
need  one  in  Gallipoli ;  and  the  chance  to  get  one 

54 


THERE 

I  had  lost.  But  I  was  too  weary  to  let  even  the 
cold  keep  me  awake.  In  a  few  minutes  I  was 
as  sound  asleep  as  if  I  had  been  far  from  all 
thought  of  war  or  trenches. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  I  had  just  got  to  sleep 
when  I  was  awakened  by  a  hand  shaking  my 
shoulder  roughly,  and  by  a  voice  shouting, 
"  Stand  to,  laddie."  It  was  Mac.  I  jumped  to 
my  feet,  rubbing  my  eyes. 

"  What 's  the  matter?  "  I  asked. 

"  Nothing 's  the  matter,"  said  Mac.  "  Every 
morning  at  daybreak  ye  stand  to  airms  for  an 
hour." 

I  looked  along  the  trench.  Every  man  stood 
on  the  firing  platform  with  his  bayonet  fixed. 
Daybreak  and  just  about  sunset  are  the  times 
attacks  are  most  likely  to  take  place.  At  those 
times  the  greatest  precautions  are  taken.  Dawn 
was  just  purpling  the  range  of  hills  directly  in 
front  when  word  came,  "  Day  duties  commence." 
Periscopes  were  served  out,  and  placed  about 
ten  feet  apart  along  the  trench.  These  are  plain 
oblong  tubes  of  tin,  three  by  six  inches,  about 
two  feet  high.  They  contain  an  arrangement  of 
double  mirrors,  one  at  the  top,  and  one  at  the 
bottom.     The  top  mirror  slants  backward,  and 

55 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

reflects  objects  in  front  of  it.  The  one  at  the 
bottom  slants  forward,  and  reflects  the  image 
caught  by  the  top  mirror.  In  the  daytime,  by 
using  a  periscope,  a  sentry  can  keep  his  head  be- 
low the  top  of  the  parapet,  while  he  watches  the 
ground  in  front.  Sometimes,  however,  a  bullet 
strikes  one  of  the  mirrors,  and  the  splintered 
glass  blinds  the  sentry.  It  is  not  an  uncommon 
thing  to  see  a  man  go  to  the  hospital  with  his  face 
badly  lacerated  by  periscope  glass. 

During  the  daytime,  the  men  who  were  not 
watching  worked  at  different  "  fatigues."  Para- 
pets had  to  be  fixed  up,  trenches  deepened,  drains 
and  dumps  dug,  and  bomb-proof  shelters  had  to 
be  constructed  for  the  officers.  Every  few  min- 
utes the  Turkish  batteries  opened  fire  on  us,  but 
with  very  poor  success.  The  navy  and  our  land 
batteries  replied,  with  what  effect  we  could  not 
tell.  Once  or  twice  I  put  my  head  up  higher 
than  the  parapet.  Each  time  I  did,  I  heard  the 
ping  of  a  bullet,  as  it  whizzed  past  my  ear.  Once 
a  sniper  put  five  at  me  in  rapid  succession. 
Every  one  was  within  a  few  inches  of  me,  but 
fortunately  on  the  outside  of  the  parapet.  Just 
before  landing  in  Egypt,  we  had  been  served  out 
with  large  W'hite  helmets  to  protect  us  from  the 

56 


e 
p 


c 


P 

B 
OQ 

P 


p 

p 

p 


'k*         * 
•'         it'  ■* 


THERE 

sun.  It  did  not  take  us  very  long  to  discover 
that  on  the  Peninsula  of  Gallipoli  these  were 
veritable  death  traps.  Against  the  landscape 
they  loomed  as  large  as  tents ;  they  were  simply 
invitations  to  the  enemy  snipers.  We  soon  dis- 
carded  them  for  our  service  caps.  The  hot  sun 
of  a  Turkish  summer  bored  down  on  us,  adding 
to  the  torment  of  parched  throats  and  tongues. 
We  were  suffering  very  much  from  lack  of  water. 
The  first  night  we  went  into  the  firing  line  we 
were  issued  about  a  pint  of  water  for  each  man. 
It  was  a  week  before  we  got  a  fresh  supply.  We 
had  not  yet  had  time  to  get  properly  organized, 
and  our  only  food  was  hard  biscuits,  apricot  jam, 
and  bully  beef;  a  pretty  good  ration  under 
ordinary  conditions,  but,  without  water,  most  un- 
palatable. The  flies,  too,  bothered  us  inces- 
santly. As  soon  as  a  man  spread  some  jam  on 
his  biscuits,  the  flies  swarmed  upon  it,  and  be- 
fore he  could  get  it  to  his  mouth  it  was  black 
with  the  pests. 

These  were  not  the  only  drawbacks.  Directly 
in  front  of  our  trenches  lay  a  lot  of  corpses, 
Turks  who  had  been  killed  in  the  last  attack. 
In  front  of  the  line  of  about  two  hundred  yards 
held  by  B  Company  there  were  six  or  seven  hun- 

59 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

dred  of  them.  We  could  not  get  out  to  bury 
them,  nor  could  we  afford  to  allow  the  enemy  to 
do  so.  There  they  stayed,  and  some  of  the  hordes 
of  flies  that  continually  hovered  about  them,  with 
every  change  of  wind,  swept  down  into  our 
trenches,  carrying  to  our  food  the  germs  of  dys- 
entery, enteric,  and  all  the  foul  diseases  that 
threaten  men  in  the  tropics. 

After  two  days  of  this  life,  we  were  relieved 
and  moved  back  about  two  miles  to  the  reserve 
dugouts  for  a  rest,  to  get  something  to  eat,  and 
depopulate  our  underwear;  for  the  trenches 
where  we  slept  harbored  not  only  rats  but  ver- 
min and  all  manner  of  things  foul. 

The  regiment  that  relieved  us  was  an  English 
regiment,  the  Essex.  They  were  some  of 
"  Kitchener's  Army."  We  stood  down  off  the 
parapet,  and  the  Englishmen  took  our  places. 
Then  with  our  entire  equipment  on  our  backs 
we  started  our  hegira.  We  had  about  four 
miles  to  go,  two  down  through  the  front  line 
trenches,  then  two  more  through  winding,  nar- 
row communication  trenches,  almost  to  the  edge 
of  the  Salt  Lake.  Here  in  the  partial  shelter 
afforded  by  a  small  hill  were  our  dugouts.  In 
Gallipoli  there  was  no  attempt  at  the  ambitious 

60 


THERE 

dugout  one  hears  of  on  the  Western  front.  Our 
dugouts  resembled  more  nearly  than  anything 
else  newly  made  graves.  Usually  one  sought  a 
large  rock  and  made  a  dugout  at  the  foot  of  it. 
The  soil  of  the  Peninsula  lent  itself  readily  to 
dugout  construction.  It  is  a  moist,  spongy  clay, 
of  the  consistency  of  thick  mortar.  A  pickax 
turns  up  large  chunks  of  it;  these  are  placed 
around  the  sides.  A  few  hours'  sun  dries  out 
the  moisture,  and  leaves  them  as  hard  and  solid 
as  concrete. 

While  we  had  been  in  the  firing  line,  another 
regiment  had  made  some  dugouts.  There  were 
four  rows  of  them,  one  for  each  company,  B 
Company's  were  nearest  the  beach.  We  filed 
slowly  down  the  line,  until  we  came  to  the  end. 
A  dugout  was  assigned  to  every  two  men.  I 
shared  one  with  a  chap  named  Stenlake.  We 
spread  our  blankets,  put  our  packs  under  our 
heads,  and  for  the  first  time  for  a  week,  took  off 
our  boots.  Before  going  to  sleep,  Stenlake  and  I 
chatted  for  a  while.  When  war  broke  out,  he 
told  me,  he  had  been  a  missionary  in  Newfound- 
land. He  offered  as  chaplain,  and  was  accepted 
and  given  a  commission  as  captain.  Later  some 
difficulty  arose.     The  regiment  was  made  up  of 

61 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

three  or  four  different  denominations,  about 
equally  divided.  Each  one  wanted  its  own  chap- 
Iain,  which  was  expensive;  so  they  decided  to 
have  no  chaplain.  Stenlake  immediately  re- 
signed his  commission,  and  enlisted  as  a  private. 
Our  whisperings  were  interrupted  by  a  voice 
from  the  next  dugout.  "  You  had  better  get  to 
sleep  as  soon  as  you  can,  boys ;  you  have  a  hard 
day  before  you,  to-morrow."  It  was  Mr.  Nunns, 
the  lieutenant  in  command  of  our  platoon. 
Casting  aside  all  caste  prejudice,  he  was  sleep- 
ing in  the  midst  of  his  men,  in  the  first  dug- 
out he  had  found  empty.  He  could  have  detailed 
some  men  to  build  him  an  elaborate  dugout,  but 
he  preferred  to  be  with  his  "  boys."  The  Eng- 
lish officers  of  the  old  school  claim  that  this  sort 
of  thing  hurts  discipline.  If  they  had  seen  the 
prompt  and  cheerful  way  in  which  No.  8  platoon 
obeyed  Mr.  Nunns'  orders,  they  would  have  been 
enlightened. 


62 


CHAPTER  III 

TRENCHES 

SOMEBODY  has  said  that  a  change  of  occu- 
pation is  a  rest.  Whoever  sent  us  into 
dugouts  for  a  rest,  evidently  had  this  definition 
in  mind.  After  breakfast  the  first  morning  we 
were  ordered  out  for  digging  fatigue  just  behind 
the  firing  line.  In  this  there  was  one  consola- 
tion. We  did  not  have  to  carry  our  packs. 
Each  man  took  his  rifle  and  either  a  pick  or  a 
shovel.  Communication  trenches  had  to  be  dug 
to  avoid  long  tramps  through  the  firing  line ;  and 
connecting  trenches  had  to  be  made  between  the 
existing  communication  trenches.  While  we 
were  in  dugouts  we  had  eight  hours  of  this  work 
out  of  every  twenty-four ;  four  hours  in  the  day- 
time and  four  at  night. 

The  second  day  in  dugouts  when  we  came  back 
from  our  morning's  digging,  we  found  some  new 
arrivals  making  some  dugouts  about  two  hun- 

63 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

dred  yards  behind  our  lines.  They  were  Terri- 
torials, who  correspond  to  the  militia  in  the 
United  States.  "  The  London  Terriers,"  they 
called  themselves.  Mostly  they  were  young  fel- 
lows from  eighteen  to  twenty-two  years  old. 
They  had  landed  only  that  morning  and  were  in 
splendid  condition,  and  very  eager  for  the  com- 
ing of  evening  when  they  were  to  go  to  the  fir- 
ing line.  The  ground  they  had  selected  was 
sheltered  from  observation  by  the  little  ridge  near 
our  line  of  dugouts ;  but  some  of  our  men  in  mov- 
ing about  attracted  the  attention  of  the  Turkish 
artillery  observer.  Instantly  half  a  dozen  shells 
came  over  the  ridge,  past  our  line,  and  bang! 
right  in  the  midst  of  the  Londons,  working  fear- 
ful destruction.  Every  ten  or  fifteen  minutes 
after  that,  the  Turks  sent  over  some  shells. 
Some  regiments  are  lucky,  others  seem  to  walk 
into  destruction  everywhere  they  turn.  The 
shells  fired  at  the  Newfoundlanders  landed  in  the 
Londons.  About  two  minutes'  walk  from  our 
dugouts  our  cooks  had  built  a  fire  and  were  pre- 
paring meals.  A  number  of  our  men  passed 
continually  between  our  line  and  the  cooks'. 
Not  one  of  them  was  even  scratched.  The  only 
two  of  the  Londons  who  ventured  there  were 

64 


TRENCHES 

hit;  one  fellow  was  killed  instantly,  the  other, 
seriously  wounded  through  the  lungs,  lay  moan- 
ing where  he  had  fallen.  It  was  just  dusk,  and 
nobody  knew  he  had  been  hit  until  one  of  our 
men,  coming  down,  heard  his  hoarse  whispering 
request  to  "  get  a  doctor,  for  God's  sake  get  a 
doctor."  While  somebody  ran  for  the  doctor, 
our  stretcher  bearers  responded  to  the  all  too  fa- 
miliar shout,  "  Stretcher  bearers  at  the  double," 
but  by  the  time  they  reached  him  he  was  beyond 
all  need  of  doctor  or  stretcher  bearers.  Before 
the  London  Terriers  even  saw  the  firing  line, 
they  lost  over  two  hundred  men.  They  simply 
could  not  escape  the  Turkish  shells.  The  enemy 
had  a  habit  of  sending  over  one  shell,  then  wait- 
ing just  a  minute  or  less,  and  following  it  with 
another.  The  first  shell  generally  wounded  two 
or  three  men;  the  second  one  was  sent  over  to 
catch  the  stretcher  bearers  and  the  comrades 
who  hastened  to  aid  those  who  were  hit.  Be- 
fore they  had  completed  their  dugouts,  the  shrap- 
nel caught  them  in  the  open;  after  they  were 
dug  in,  it  buried  them  alive.  Never  did  a  regi- 
ment leave  dugouts  with  so  much  joy  as  did  the 
London  Terriers  when  they  entered  the  trenches 
for  the  first  time.    Ordinarily  a  man  is  much 

65 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

safer  in  the  firing  line  than  in  rest  dugouts. 
Trenches  are  so  constructed  that  even  when  a 
shell  drops  right  in  the  traverse  where  men  are, 
only  half  a  dozen  or  so  suffer.  In  open  or 
slightly  protected  ground  where  the  dugouts  are, 
the  burst  of  a  shrapnel  shell  covers  an  area 
twenty-five  by  two  hundred  yards  in  extent. 

A  shell  can  be  heard  coming.  Experts  claim 
to  identify  the  caliber  of  a  gun  by  the  sound  the 
shell  makes.  Few  live  long  enough  to  become 
such  experts.  In  Gallipoli  the  average  length  of 
life  was  three  weeks.  In  dugouts  we  always  ate 
our  meals,  such  as  they  were,  to  the  accompani- 
ment of  "  Turkish  Delight,"  the  Newfound- 
landers' name  for  shrapnel.  We  had  become  ac- 
customed to  rifle  bullets.  When  you  hear  the 
zing  of  a  spent  bullet  or  the  sharp  crack  of  an 
explosive,  you  know  it  has  passed  you.  The  one 
that  hits  you,  you  never  hear.  At  first  we 
dodged  at  the  sound  of  a  passing  bullet,  but  soon 
we  came  actually  to  believe  the  superstition  that 
a  bullet  would  not  hit  a  man  unless  it  had  on 
it  his  regimental  number  and  his  name.  Then, 
too,  a  bullet  leaves  a  clean  wound,  and  a  man 
hit  by  it  drops  out  quietly.  The  shrapnel  makes 
nasty,  jagged,  hideous  wounds,  the  horrible  recol- 

66 


o 


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P 


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4(^'. 


TRENCHES 

lection  of  whicli  lingers  for  days  in  the  minds 
of  those  who  see  them.  It  is  little  wonder  that 
we  preferred  the  firing  line. 

Every  afternoon  from  just  behind  our  line  of 
dugouts  an  aeroplane  buzzed  up.  At  the  tre- 
mendous height  it  looked  like  an  immense  blue- 
bottle fly.  We  always  knew  when  it  was  two 
o'clock.  Promptly  at  that  hour  every  afternoon 
it  winged  its  way  over  us  and  beyond  to  the 
Turkish  trenches.  At  first  the  enemy's  aero- 
planes came  out  to  meet  ours,  but  a  few  en- 
counters with  our  men  soon  convinced  them  of 
the  futility  of  such  attempts.  After  that,  they 
relied  on  their  artillery.  In  the  air  all  around 
the  tiny  speck  we  could  see  white  puffs  of  smoke 
that  showed  where  their  shrapnel  was  explod- 
ing. Sometimes  those  puffs  were  perilously 
close  to  it ;  at  such  times  our  hearts  were  in  our 
mouths.  Everybody  in  the  trench  craned  his 
neck  to  see.  When  our  aeroplane  manoeuvered 
clear,  you  could  hear  a  sigh  of  relief  from  every 
man. 

After  about  the  eighth  day  in  dugouts  we  were 
ordered  back  to  the  firing  line.  We  had  to  take 
over  a  part  of  the  trench  near  Anafarta  Village. 
In  this  vicinity  the  Fifth  Norfolks,  a  company 

69 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

formed  of  men  from  the  King's  estate  at  Sand- 
ringbam,  had  charged  into  the  woods,  about  two 
hundred  and  fifty  strong,  and  had  been  com- 
pletely lost  sight  of.  This  was  the  most  com- 
fortable trench  we  had  yet  been  in.  It  had  been 
taken  over  from  the  Turks,  and  when  we  faced 
toward  them  we  had  to  build  another  firing  plat- 
form. This  left  their  firing  platform  for  us  to 
sleep  on.  After  the  cramped,  narrow  trenches 
of  the  first  couple  of  weeks,  this  roomy  trench 
was  very  pleasant.  On  both  sides  of  the  trench 
were  some  trees  that  threw  a  grateful  shade  in 
the  daytime.  Along  the  edge  grew  little  bushes 
that  bore  luscious  blackberries,  but  to  attempt  to 
get  them  was  courting  death.  Nevertheless,  the 
Newfoundlanders  secured  a  good  many.  Best 
of  all  though  was  the  "  Block  House  Well."  For 
the  first  time  we  had  a  plenitude  of  water.  But 
by  this  time  conditions  had  begun  to  tell  on  the 
men.  Each  morning  more  and  more  men  re- 
ported for  sick  parade.  They  were  beginning  to 
feel  the  enervating  effect  of  the  climate,  and  of 
the  lack  of  water  and  proper  food.  While  we 
were  intrenched  near  the  block  house,  the  men 
were  sickening  so  fast  that  in  our  platoon  we 
had  not  enough  men  to  form  the  sentry  groups. 

70 


TRENCHES 

The  noncommissioned  officers  had  to  take  their 
place  on  the  parapet,  and  the  ordinary  work  of 
the  noncoms,  changing  sentries,  waking  reliefs, 
and  detailing  working  parties  had  to  be  done 
by  the  commissioned  officers.  Just  about  an 
hour  before  my  turn  to  watch,  I  was  suddenly 
stricken  by  the  fever  that  lurks  on  the  Peninsula. 
In  the  army,  no  man  is  sick  unless  so  pronounced 
by  the  medical  officer.  Each  morning  at  nine 
there  is  a  sick  parade.  A  man  taken  ill  after 
that  has  to  wait  until  the  next  morning,  and  is 
officially  fit  for  duty.  My  turn  came  at  eleven 
o'clock  at  night.  The  man  I  was  to  relieve  was 
Frank  Lind.  He  went  on  at  nine.  When  eleven 
o'clock  came,  I  was  burning  up  with  fever.  Lind 
would  not  hear  of  my  being  roused  to  relieve  him, 
but  continued  on  the  parapet  until  one  o'clock, 
although  in  that  part  of  the  trench  snipers  had 
been  doing  a  lot  of  execution.  Then  he  rested 
for  a  couple  of  hours  and  at  three  o'clock  re- 
sumed his  place  on  the  parapet  for  the  remainder 
of  the  night.  At  daybreak  he  was  still  there.  I 
slept  all  through  the  night,  exhausted  by  the 
fever,  and  it  was  not  till  a  few  days  after  that 
some  one  else  told  me  what  Lind  had  done. 
From  him  I  heard  no  mention  of  it.     Whenever 

71 


TKENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

somebody  says  that  war  serves  only  to  bring  out 
the  worst  in  a  man  I  think  of  Frank  Lind.  The 
fever  that  had  weakened  me  so,  continued  all 
that  day.  I  reported  for  sick  parade  and  was 
given  a  day  olf  duty.  The  next  day  I  was  given 
light  duty,  and  the  following  day  the  fever  left 
me  and  that  night  I  was  fit  for  duty  again,  and 
was  sent  out  to  a  detached  post  about  halfway 
between  us  and  the  enemy.  The  detached  post 
was  an  abandoned  house  about  twenty  feet 
square.  All  the  doors  and  windows  had  been 
torn  out,  and  now  it  was  nothing  but  the  merest 
skeleton  of  a  house.  We  had  been  there  about 
three  hours  when  there  occurred  something  most 
extraordinary  and  unaccountable.  It  was  a 
pitch  dark  night,  and  working  parties  were  out 
from  both  sides.  Ordinarily  there  would  have 
been  no  firing.  Suddenly  from  away  on  the 
right  where  the  Australians  were,  began  the 
sharp  crackling  of  rapid  fire.  A  boy  pulling  a 
wooden  stick  along  an  iron  park  railing  makes 
almost  the  same  sound.  The  crackling  swept 
down  the  line  right  past  the  trench  directly  be- 
hind us  and  away  on  to  the  left.  The  Turks, 
fearing  an   attack,   replied.     Between   the  two 

72 


TRENCHES 

fires  we  were  caught.  There  were  eight  of  us 
in  the  blockhouse.  Only  two  of  us  came  from 
No.  8  platoon,  Art  Pratt,  my  sandy-haired  friend 
of  Aldershot  days,  and  I.  The  sergeant  in 
charge  was  from  another  platoon.  When  the 
rapid  fire  began,  he  became  melodramatic.  He 
had  the  responsibility  of  seven  other  men's  lives, 
and  the  thing  that  seemed  rather  comic  to  us  was 
probably  very  serious  to  him.  There  was  noth- 
ing the  matter,  though,  with  the  way  in  which  he 
handled  the  situation.  There  were  eight  open- 
ings in  the  house  for  the  missing  doors  and  win- 
dows. At  each  window^  he  placed  a  man,  and 
stood  at  the  door  himself,  then  ordered  us  to  fill 
our  magazines  and  fix  our  bayonets.  But  psy- 
chologically he  made  a  mistake.  He  turned  to 
me  and  said, 

"  Corporal,  we  're  in  a  pretty  tight  place.  We 
may  have  to  sell  our  lives  dearly.  I  want  every 
man  to  stand  by  me.     Will  you  stand  by  me?  " 

When  the  thing  had  started  I  had  just  expe- 
rienced a  pleasant  tingle  of  excitement,  but  at 
this  view  of  the  situation  I  felt  a  little  serious. 
Before  I  had  a  chance  to  reply  Art  Pratt  relieved 
the  situation  by  shouting, 

73 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

"Did  YOU  say  stand  by  you?  I'll  stand  by 
this  window  and  I  '11  bayonet  the  first  damn  Turk 
I  see." 

There  was  a  general  laugh  and  the  moment  of 
tension  passed.  In  a  few  minutes  the  exchange 
of  rapid  fire  died  down  as  suddenly  as  it  had 
started.  The  rest  of  the  night  passed  unevent- 
fully. Just  before  daybreak  we  returned  to  our 
platoons. 

We  never  found  out  the  reason  for  the  sudden 
exchange  of  rapid  fire.  Some  Australians  away 
on  the  right  had  started  it.  Everybody  had 
joined  in,  as  the  firing  ran  along  the  line  of 
trenches.  As  soon  as  the  officers  began  an  in- 
vestigation it  was  stopped. 

It  seems  to  me  that  most  of  the  time  we  were 
in  the  blockhouse  trench  we  spent  our  nights  out 
between  the  lines.  Most  of  our  work  was  done  at 
night.  When  we  wished  to  advance  our  line,  Ave 
sent  forward  a  platoon  of  men  the  desired  dis- 
tance. Every  man  carried  with  him  three  empty 
sandbags  and  his  intrenching  tool.  Temporary 
protection  is  secured  at  short  notice  by  having 
every  man  dig  a  hole  in  the  ground  that  is  large 
and  deep  enough  to  allow  liim  to  lie  flat  in  it. 
The  intrenching  tool  is  a  miniature  pickax,  one 

74 


TRENCHES 

end  of  which  resembles  a  large  bladed  hoe  with 
a  sharpened  and  tempered  edge.  The  pick  end 
is  used  to  loosen  hard  material  and  to  break  up 
large  lumps;  the  other  end  is  used  as  a  shovel 
to  throw  up  the  dirt.  When  used  in  this  fash- 
ion the  wooden  handle  is  laid  aside,  the  pick  end 
becomes  a  handle,  and  the  intrenching  tool  is 
used  in  the  same  manner  as  a  trowel.  The  whole 
instrument  is  not  over  a  foot  long,  and  is  car- 
ried in  the  equipment. 

Lying  on  our  stomachs,  our  rifles  close  at  hand, 
we  dug  furiously.  First  we  loosened  up  enough 
earth  in  front  of  our  heads  to  fill  a  sandbag. 
This  sandbag  we  placed  beside  our  heads  on  the 
side  nearest  the  enemy.  Out  in  no  man's  land 
with  bullets  from  rifle  and  machine  guns  patter- 
ing about  us,  we  did  fast  work.  As  soon  as  we 
had  filled  the  second  and  third  sandbags  we 
placed  them  on  top  of  the  first.  In  Gallipoli 
every  other  military  necessity  was  subordinated 
to  concealment.  Often  we  could  complete  a 
trench  and  occupy  it  before  the  enemy  knew  of 
it.  In  the  daytime  our  aeroplanes  kept  their 
aerial  observers  from  coming  out  to  find  any 
work  we  had  done  during  the  night.  Sometimes 
while  we  were  digging,  the  Turks  surprised  us 

75 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

by  sending  up  star  shells.  They  burst  like 
rockets  high  overhead.  Everything  was  out- 
lined in  a  strange,  uncanny  light  that  gave  the 
effect  of  stage  fire.  At  first,  when  a  man  saw  a 
star  shell,  he  dropped  flat  on  his  face ;  but  after  a 
good  many  men  had  been  riddled  by  bullets,  we 
saw  our  mistake.  The  sudden,  blinding  glare 
makes  it  impossible  to  identify  objects  before  the 
light  fades.  Star  shells  show  only  movement. 
The  first  stir  between  the  lines  becomes  the  tar- 
get for  both  sides.  So,  after  that,  even  when  a 
man  was  standing  upright,  he  simply  stood  still. 
After  the  block-house  trench,  our  next  move 
was  to  a  part  of  the  firing  line  that  I  have  never 
been  able  to  identify.  It  was  very  close  to  the 
Turks,  and  in  this  spot  we  lost  a  large  number 
of  men.  From  one  point,  a  narrow  sap  or  rough 
trench  ran  out  at  right  angles  very  close  to  the 
Turkish  position.  It  may  have  been  twenty-five 
or  thirty  yards  away.  To  hold  this  sap  was 
very  important ;  if  the  Turks  took  it,  it  gave  them 
a  commanding  position.  About  twenty  men 
were  in  it  all  the  time,  four  or  five  of  them  bomb 
throwers.  The  men  holding  this  sap  at  the  time 
we  were  there  were  the  Irish,  the  Dublin  Fusi- 

76 


a 

c8 

CO 

en 
a! 


O 


a 


e8 

a 
o 


a 
"Sb 


y 

a 

hi 


4) 

a 


^. .  V''-/'-*#j;*^- 


TRENCHES 

liers  or,  as  we  knew  them,  the  Dubs.  The  Turks 
made  several  attempts  to  take  it,  but  were  re- 
pulsed. When  our  men  were  not  on  sentry  duty, 
several  of  them  spent  their  rest  hours  out  in  this 
sap,  talking  to  the  Dubs.  The  Dubs  were  inter- 
esting talkers.  They  had  been  in  the  thing  from 
the  beginning,  and  spoke  of  the  landings  with 
laughter  and  a  fierce  joy  of  slaughter. 
Most  of  them  had  been  on  the  Western  front 
before  coming  to  GalliiDoli.  From  the  Turkish 
trenches  directly  in  front  of  this  sap,  the  enemy 
signaled  the  effect  of  our  shots.  They  used  the 
same  signals  that  we  used  in  target  practice, 
waving  a  stick  back  and  forth  to  indicate  outers, 
inners,  magpies,  and  bull's-eyes.  Whoever  did 
it,  had  a  sense  of  humor;  because  as  soon  as  he 
became  tired,  he  took  down  the  stick  for  an  in- 
stant, then  raised  it  again  and  waved  it  back 
and  forth  derisively,  with  a  large  red  German 
sausage  on  the  end  of  it.  This  did  not  seem  to 
bear  out  very  well  the  tales  that  the  enemy  was 
slowly  starving  to  death.  Prisoners  who  sur- 
rendered from  time  to  time  told  us  that  at  any 
moment  the  entire  Turkish  army  might  surren- 
der, as  they  were  very  short  of  food.     One  thing 

79 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

we  did  know:  the  Turks  felt  the  lack  of  shoes; 
out  between  the  lines  we  found  numbers  of  our 
dead  with  the  boots  cut  off. 

While  we  were  in  this  place  the  Turks  dug  to 
within  ten  or  twelve  yards  of  us  before  they  were 
discovered.  One  of  the  Dublins  saw  them  first. 
He  seized  some  bombs,  and  jumped  out,  shout- 
ing, "  Look  at  Johnny  Turrk.  Let 's  bomb  him 
to  hell  out  of  it."  But  Johnny  Turk  was  obsti- 
nate; he  stayed  where  he  was  in  spite  of  our 
bombs.  One  of  our  fellows,  the  big  chap  whom  I 
had  heard  at  Aldershot  complaining  about  being 
asked  for  his  name  and  number,  had  crawled  into 
the  sap.  He  made  his  way  through  the  smoke 
and  dirt  to  the  end  of  the  sap  where  only  a  few 
yards  separated  him  from  the  Turks.  In  one 
item  of  armament  the  British  beat  the  Turks. 
We  use  bombs  that  explode  three  seconds  after 
they  are  thrown;  the  Turks'  don't  explode  for 
five  seconds.  The  difference  of  only  two  seconds 
seems  slight,  but  that  day  in  the  sap-head  it  was 
of  great  importance.  For  a  short  while  the  sup- 
jjly  of  bombs  for  our  side  ran  out.  The  man  who 
was  trying  to  get  the  cover  off  a  box  of  them 
found  dififlculty  in  doing  it.  The  men  in  the  sap- 
head  were  without  bombs.     Meanwhile  the  Turks 

80 


TRENCHES 

kept  up  an  uninterrupted  throwing  of  bombs. 
Most  of  tliem  landed  in  the  sap.  The  big  New- 
foundlander who  had  crawled  out  looking  for 
excitement  found  it.  As  soon  as  the  supply  of 
bombs  ran  out,  instead  of  getting  back  into 
safety,  he  stood  his  ground.  The  first  bomb  that 
came  over  dropped  close  to  him.  He  was  swear- 
ing softly,  and  his  face  was  glowing  with  pleas- 
ure. He  bent  down  coolly,  picked  up  the  bomb 
and  threw  it  back  over  the  parapet  at  the  Turks 
w^ho  had  sent  it.  With  our  bombs  he  could  not 
have  done  it,  but  the  extra  two  seconds  were  just 
enough.  Five  or  six  of  the  bombs  came  in  and 
were  treated  in  the  same  way,  before  our  supply 
was  resumed.  A  brigade  officer,  who  had  come 
out  into  the  sap,  stood  gazing  awe-struck  at  the 
big  Newfoundlander.  Open-mouthed,  with  mon- 
ocle in  hand,  the  officer  was  the  picture  of  amaze- 
ment. At  last  he  spoke,  wdth  that  slow^,  imper- 
sonal English  drawl : 

"  I  say,  my  man,  what  is  your  name  and  num- 
ber." 

The  look  on  the  Newfoundlander's  face  was  a 
study.  He  knew  he  should  not  have  come  out 
into  that  sap,  and  every  time  that  question  had 
been  shot  at  him  before  it  had  meant  a  repri- 

81 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

mand.  At  last  he  shrugged  his  shoulders,  then 
with  a  resigned  expression,  answered  the  officer 
in  a  fashion  not  entirely  confined  to  Newfound- 
landers— by  asking  a  question:  "What  in  hell 
have  I  done  now?  " 

Without  a  word  the  officer  turned  on  his  heel 
and  left  the  sap.  The  big  fellow  waited  until 
he  felt  the  officer  was  well  out  of  sight,  then  de- 
parted for  his  proper  place  in  the  trench.  One 
of  the  Dubs  looking  after  him,  said  to  me : 

"  There 's  a  man  that  would  have  been  recom- 
mended for  a  Distinguished  Conduct  Medal  if 
he  'd  answered  that  officer  right." 

That  Irishman  was  a  man  of  wide  experience. 

"  I  've  been  seventeen  years  in  the  army,  and 
I  've  been  in  every  war  that  England  fought  in 
that  time,"  said  he,  "  and  I  '11  tell  you  now,  the 
real  Distinguished  Conduct  Medal  men  and  the 
real  V.  C.  heroes  never  get  them.  They  're  under 
the  ground."  Coming  from  the  man  it  did,  this 
expression  of  opinion  was  interesting,  for  he  was 
Cooke,  the  man  who  had  been  given  a  Distin- 
guished Conduct  Medal  for  his  work  on  the  West- 
ern front.  Since  coming  to  the  Peninsula  he 
had  been  acting  as  a  sharpshooter,  and  had  been 
recommended  for  the  V.  C,  the  Victoria  Cross, 

82 


TRENCHES 

whicli  is  the  highest  reward  for  valor  in  the  Brit- 
ish army.  He  was  only  waiting  then,  for  word 
to  go  to  London,  to  get  the  cross  pinned  on  by 
the  King, 

"  There  's  one  man  on  this  Peninsula,'-  contin- 
ued Cooke,  "  who 's  won  the  V.  C.  fifty  times 
over ;  that 's  the  donkey-man." 

The  man  Cooke  meant  was  an  Australian,  a 
stretcher-bearer.  His  real  name  was  Simpson, 
but  nobody  ever  called  him  that.  Because  he 
was  of  Irish  descent,  the  Australians,  who  dearly 
love  nicknames,  called  him  Murphy,  or,  Moriarty, 
or  Dooley,  or  whatever  Irish  name  first  occurred 
to  them.  More  generally,  though,  he  was  called 
the  Man  with  the  Donkey,  and  by  this  name  he 
was  known  all  over  the  Peninsula.  In  the  early 
days,  the  Anzacs  had  captured  some  booty  from 
the  Turks  and  in  it  were  some  donkeys.  It  was 
in  the  strenuous  time  when  men  lay  in  all  sorts 
of  inaccessible  places,  dying  and  sorely  wounded, 
Simpson  in  those  days  seemed  everywhere.  As 
soon  as  he  heard  of  the  capture  he  went  down, 
looked  appraisingly  over  the  donkeys,  and  com- 
mandeered two  of  them.  On  one  donkey  he 
painted  F.  A.  No.  1,  and  on  the  other,  F.  A.  No. 
2 ;  F.  A.  being  his  abbreviation  for  Field  Ambu- 

83 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

lance.  Day  and  night  after  that  Simpson  could 
be  seen  going  about  among  the  wounded,  here  giv- 
ing a  man  first  aid,  there  loosening  the  equip- 
ment and  making  easier  the  last  few  minutes  for 
some  poor  fellow  too  far  gone  to  need  any  medical 
care.  The  wounded  men  who  could  not  walk  or 
limp  down  to  the  dressing  station  he  carried 
down,  one  on  each  of  the  donkeys  and  one  on  his 
back  or  in  his  arms.  He  talked  to  the  donkeys  as 
they  plodded  slowly  along,  in  a  strange  mixture 
of  English,  Arabic  profanity,  and  Australian 
slang.  Many  an  Australian  or  New  Zealander 
who  has  never  heard  of  Simpson  remembers 
gratefully  the  attentions  of  a  strangely  gentle 
man  who  drove  before  him  two  small  gray  don- 
keys each  of  which  carried  a  wounded  soldier. 
In  Australia  long  after  this  war  is  over  men  will 
thrill  at  the  mention  of  the  Man  wdth  the  Don- 
key. I  agreed  with  Cooke  that  this  man  had  won 
the  V.  C.  fifty  times  over. 

Cooke  was  going  out  that  night,  he  told  me, 
to  stay  for  three  or  four  days,  sniping,  between 
the  lines.  As  soon  as  he  came  back  he  expected 
to  go  to  London. 

"  Before  I  go  out,"  he  said,  "  I  '11  show  you  a 

84 


TRENCHES 

good  place  where  you  can  get  a  shot  at  Abdul 
Pasha." 

I  followed  Cooke  out  through  the  sap  and  up 
the  trench  a  little  way  to  where  it  turned  sharply 
to  avoid  a  large  boulder.  Just  in  front  of  this 
boulder  was  some  short,  prickly  underbrush. 
Cooke  parted  the  bushes  cautiously  with  his 
hand,  and  motioned  me  to  come  closer,  I  did 
and  through  the  opening  he  pointed  out  the  en- 
emy trench  about  four  hundred  yards  away,  and 
about  thirty  yards  in  front  of  it  a  little  clump  of 
bushes. 

"  Just  in  front  of  those  bushes,"  said  Cooke, 
"  there 's  a  sniper's  dugout.  Keep  your  eyes 
open  to-morrow  and  you  ought  to  get  some  of 
them." 

I  noted  the  place  for  the  next  day,  and  walked 
down  to  the  sap  with  Cooke.  There  I  shook 
hands  with  him,  wished  him  good  luck,  and  re- 
turned to  my  platoon. 

That  night  I  had  to  go  out  on  listening  patrol 
between  the  lines.  At  one  o'clock  my  turn  came. 
An  Irish  sergeant  came  along  the  trench  for  me 
to  guide  me  out  to  the  listening  post.  I  went 
with   him  a  short   distance  along  the  trench, 

85 


^ 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

picked  up  four  others,  then  with  a  shoulder  from 
a  comrade,  we  got  over  the  parapet.  The  listen- 
ing post  was  about  a  hundred  yards  away.  We 
had  gone  only  a  few  yards  when  we  heard  firing 
coming  from  that  direction,  first  one  shot  fol- 
lowed by  twenty  or  thirty  in  quick  succession, 
then  silence.  A  man  stumbled  out  of  the  dark- 
ness immediately  in  front  of  us.  He  was  pant- 
ing and  excited.  It  was  a  messenger  from  the 
corporal  that  we  were  going  to  relieve.  He  had 
been  walking  along  without  the  least  suspicion 
of  danger  when  he  had  run  full  tilt  into  a  party 
of  fifteen  or  sixteen  of  the  enemy.  He  had 
dropped  down  immediately  and  yelled  to  one  of 
his  men  to  go  back  to  the  trench  with  word.  We 
followed  the  panting  messenger  to  the  post.  The 
enemy  had  now  disappeared.  We  opened  rapid 
fire  in  the  direction  in  which  they  had  gone. 
Evidently  it  was  right,  for  in  a  few  seconds  they 
returned  it,  wounding  one  man.  For  about  five 
minutes  we  kept  up  firing,  with  what  success  we 
could  not  tell,  but  at  any  rate  we  had  the  satis- 
faction of  driving  off  a  superior  force.  Those 
two  hours  straining  through  the  darkness  were 
not  particularly  pleasant.  I  did  not  know  what 
moment  or  from  what  direction  the  enemy  might 

86 


TRENCHES 

come,  and  I  knew  that  if  he  did  come  it  would  be 
in  force.  Apparently  the  whole  thing  was  un- 
planned, because  during  the  remainder  of  my  two 
hours,  although  I  peered  unceasingly  in  all  direc- 
tions, I  could  see  nothing,  nor  could  I  hear  the 
slightest  sound.  Evidently  Johnny  Turk  was 
willing  to  let  well  enough  alone.  That  night 
when  I  returned  to  the  trench  I  was  told  that  the 
next  night  at  dark  we  were  to  go  into  dugouts. 

Ordinarily  the  thought  of  dugouts  was  dis- 
tasteful, but  it  seemed  years  since  I  had  taken 
my  boots  off.  Our  platoon  had  lost  heavily, 
mostly  from  disease.  All  the  novelty  had  worn 
off  the  trench  life.  Instead  of  six  noncoms,  there 
were  only  three.  Each  of  us  was  doing  the  work 
of  two  men.  Our  ration  had  been  the  eternal 
bully  beef,  biscuit,  and  jam.  Our  cooks  did  their 
best  to  make  it  palatable  by  cooking  the  beef  in 
stew  with  some  desiccated  vegetables,  but  these 
were  hard  and  tasteless.  Most  of  us  had  got  to 
the  stage  where  the  very  sight  of  jam  made  us 
sick.  That  night,  looking  down  through  the  ra- 
vine, I  saw,  winking  and  blinking  cheerfully,  the 
only  light  that  brightened  the  Stygian  darkness, 
the  Eed  Cross  of  the  hospital  ships.  I  have  won- 
dered since  if  the  entrance  to  heaven  is  illumi- 

87 


tke:nching  at  gallipoli 

nated  with  an  electric  Red  Cross.  There  was  not 
a  man  in  the  whole  battalion  who  was  really  fit. 
Most  of  them  had  had  a  touch  of  one  or  more  of 
the  prevalent  diseases. 

Stenlake,  the  young  clergyman,  who  had  been 
my  dugout  mate,  was  scarcely  able  to  drag  him- 
self about  the  trench.  And  by  this  time  we  had 
the  weather  to  contend  with.  It  was  nearing 
the  middle  of  October,  and  the  rainy  season 
was  almost  upon  us.  Occasionally  the  sky  dark- 
ened up  to  a  heavy  grayness  that  seemed  to  cover 
everything  as  Avith  a  pall.  Following  this  came 
heavy,  sudden  squalls  that  swept  through  the 
trenches,  drenching  everything,  and  tearing 
blankets  and  equipments  w4th  them.  Although 
the  sun  still  continued  to  bore  down  unremit- 
tingly in  the  daytime,  the  nights  had  become  bit- 
terly cold,  and  to  the  tropical  diseases  were 
added  rheumatism  and  pneumonia.  On  the  men 
from  Newfoundland  the  climate  was  especially 
telling.  We  had  ceased  to  wonder  at  the  crowd 
of  men  who  reported  sick  each  morning,  and 
simply  marveled  that  the  number  was  not 
greater. 

All  over  the  Peninsula  disease  had  become 
epidemic   until    the   clearing   stations   and   the 

88 


TRENCHES 

beaclies  were  choked  with  sick.  The  time  we 
should  have  been  sleeping  was  spent  in  digging, 
but  still  the  men  worked  uncomplainingly. 
Some,  too  game  to  quit,  would  not  report  to  the 
doctor,  working  on  courageously  until  they 
dropped,  although  down  in  the  bay  beckoned  the 
Red  Cross  of  the  hospital  ship,  with  its  assurance 
of  cleanliness,  rest,  and  safety.  By  sickness  and 
snipers'  bullets  w^e  were  losing  thirty  men  a  day. 
Nobody  in  the  front  line  trenches  or  on  the  shell- 
swept  area  behind  ever  expected  to  leave  the 
Peninsula  alive.  Their  one  hope  was  to  get  off 
wounded.  Every  night  men  leaving  the  trenches 
to  bring  up  rations  from  the  beach  shook  hands 
wdth  their  comrades.  From  every  ration  party 
of  twenty  men  we  always  counted  on  losing  two. 
Those  who  were  wounded  were  looked  on  as 
lucky.  The  best  thing  we  could  wish  a  man  was 
a  "  cushy  wound,"  one  that  would  not  prove  fatal, 
or  a  "  Blighty  one."  But  no  one  wanted  to  quit. 
Men  hung  on  till  the  last  minute.  Often  it  was 
not  till  a  man  dropped  exhausted  that  we  learned 
from  his  comrades  that  he  had  not  eaten  for 
days.  The  only  men  in  my  platoon  who  seemed 
to  be  nearly  fit  were  Art  Pratt,  and  a  young  chap 
named  Hayes.     Art  seemed  to  be  enjoying  the 

89 


TEENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

life  tliorougbly.  He  went  about  the  trench, 
cheerfully,  grinning  and  whistling,  putting  heart 
into  the  others.  Whenever  there  was  any  spe- 
cially dangerous  work  to  be  done.  Art  always  vol- 
unteered. He  spent  more  time  out  between  the 
lines  than  in  the  trench.  Whenever  a  specially 
reliable,  cool  man  was  needed,  Art  was  selected. 
Young  Hayes  was  a  small  chap  who  had  been  in 
my  platoon  at  Stob's  Camp  in  Scotland.  He  had 
made  a  record  for  being  absent  from  parade,  and 
was  always  in  trouble  for  minor  offenses.  I  took 
him  in  hand  and  did  my  best  to  keep  him  out  of 
trouble.  Out  in  the  trenches  he  remembered  it, 
and  followed  me  around  like  a  shadow.  When- 
ever I  was  sent  in  charge  of  a  fatigue  party  he 
always  volunteered.  The  men  all  did  their  best 
to  make  the  work  of  the  noncoms  easy.  As  a 
study  in  the  effects  of  colonial  discipline  it  would 
have  been  enlightening  for  some  of  the  English 
officers.  The  men  called  their  corporals  and  ser- 
geants. Jack,  or  Bill,  or  Mac,  but  there  never 
was  the  slightest  question  about  obeying  an  or- 
der. Everybody  knew  that  everybody  else  was 
overworked  and  underfed,  and  every  man  tried 
to  give  as  little  trouble  as  possible.  Such  con- 
duct from  the  Newfoundlanders  was  astonishing, 

90 


TRENCHES 

as  in  training  tliey  simply  loved  to  make  trouble 
for  the  noncoms,  and  the  most  unenviable  job  in 
the  regiment  was  that  of  corporal  or  sergeant. 
Such  were  the  conditions  the  next  afternoon 
when  we  moved  from  the  firing  trench  to  rest  near 
some  dugouts  that  had  been  forsaken  by  the 
Royal  Scots.  They  had  been  relieved,  some  said, 
to  go  to  the  island  of  Imbros,  about  fifteen  miles 
away,  for  a  rest.  At  Imbros,  rumor  said,  you 
could  buy,  in  the  canteen,  eggs  and  butter,  and 
other  heavenly  things  that  we  had  almost  forgot- 
ten the  taste  of.  At  Imbros,  too,  you  were  free 
from  shell  fire,  and  drilled  every  day  just  as  you 
did  in  training.  It  was  whispered,  too,  but 
scornfully  discredited,  that  Imbros  boasted 
shower  baths,  and  ovens  for  the  disinfecting  of 
clothing.  Others  claimed  that  the  Royal  Scots 
had  been  withdrawn  from  the  Peninsula  and 
were  going  to  the  Western  front.  They  were  the 
first  regiment  to  leave  of  the  Twenty-ninth  Di- 
vision. The  whole  division  was  to  be  withdrawn 
gradually.  The  Tw^enty-ninth  w^as  our  division, 
and  we  were  to  go  with  it  to  England.  We  were 
to  winter  in  Scotland  and  after  we  had  been 
recruited  up  to  full  strength  were  to  go  to  France 
in  the  spring.     An  examination  of  the  empty 

91 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

dugouts  strengthened  this  belief.  Blankets,  rub- 
ber sheets,  belts,  pieces  of  equipment,  and  even 
overcoats  were  lying  around.  In  one  of  the  dug- 
outs I  found  a  copy  of  the  Odyssey,  and  half  a 
dozen  other  books.  A  few  dugouts  away  I  came 
upon  one  of  our  fellows  gazing  regretfully  upon 
an  empty  whisky  bottle.  As  I  approached  him, 
I  overheard  him  murmur  abstractedly,  "  My  fa- 
vorite brand  too,  my  favorite  brand."  I  passed 
on  without  interrupting  him.  It  was  too  sacred 
a  moment. 


92 


CHAPTER  ly 

DUGOUTS 

THE  afternoon  sun  poured  down  steadily  on 
little  groups  of  men  preparing  dugouts  for 
habitation.  I  had  a  good  many  details  to  attend 
to  before  I  could  look  about  for  a  suitable  place 
for  a  dugout.  Men  had  to  be  told  off  for  differ- 
ent fatigues.  Men  for  pick  and  shovel  work 
that  night  were  placed  in  sections  so  that  each 
group  would  get  as  much  sleep  as  possible.  All 
the  available  dugouts  had  been  taken  up  by  the 
first  comers.  The  location  here  was  particu- 
larly well  suited  for  dugouts.  A  mule  path  to 
the  beach  ran  along  the  bottom  of  a  narrow  ra- 
vine. On  one  side  of  the  path  the  ground 
shelved  gradually  up  till  it  merged  into  a  plain, 
covered  with  long  grass,  overgrown  and  neg- 
lected. On  the  other  side,  a  ridge  sloped  up 
sharply  and  formed  a  natural  protection  before 
it  also  merged  into  a  "  gorse  "  covered  plateau. 
Small  evergreen  bushes  served  the  double  pur- 
pose of  hiding  our  movements  from  the  enemy 

93 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

and  affording  some  shade  from  the  broiling  sun. 
At  the  foot  of  the  ridge  we  made  our  line  of 
dugouts.  The  angle  of  the  ridge  was  so  steep 
that  an  enemy  shell  could  not  possibly  drop  on 
our  dugouts.  A  little  further  away  some  of  A 
Company's  dugouts  were  in  the  danger  zone. 
After  much  hunting,  I  found  a  likely  looking 
place.  It  was  about  seven  feet  square,  and  where 
I  planned  to  put  the  head  of  my  dugout  a  large 
boulder  squatted.  It  was  so  eminently  suitable 
that  I  wondered  that  no  one  else  had  preempted 
it.  I  took  off  my  equipment,  threw  my  coat  on 
the  ground,  and  began  digging.  It  was  soft 
ground  and  gave  easily. 

A  short  distance  away,  I  could  see  Art  Pratt, 
digging.  He  was  finding  it  hard  work  to  make 
any  impression.  He  saw  me,  stopped  to  mop 
his  brow,  and  grinned  cheerfully. 

"  You  should  take  soft  ground  like  this,  Art," 
I  yelled. 

"  I  've  gone  so  far  now,"  said  Art,  "  that  it 's 
too  late  to  change,"  and  we  resumed  our  work. 

After  a  few  more  minutes'  digging,  my  pick 
struck  something  that  felt  like  the  root  of  a  tree, 
but  I  knew  there  was  no  tree  on  that  God-for- 
saken spot  large  enough  to  send  out  big  roots. 

94 


Washing  day  in  war-time 


DUGOUTS 

I  disentangled  the  pick  and  dug  a  little  more, 
only  to  find  the  same  obstruction.  I  took  my 
small  intrenching  tool,  scraped  away  the  dirt  I 
had  dug,  and  began  cleaning  away  near  the  base 
of  a  big  boulder.  There  were  no  roots  there, 
and  gradually  I  worked  away  from  it.  I  took 
my  pick  again,  and  at  the  first  blow  it  stuck. 
Without  trying  to  disengage  it  I  began  straining 
at  it.  In  a  few  seconds  it  began  to  give,  and  I 
withdrew  it.  Clinging  to  it  was  part  of  a  Turk- 
ish uniform,  from  which  dangled  and  rattled  the 
dried-up  bones  of  a  skeleton.  Nauseated,  I  hur- 
riedly filled  in  the  place,  and  threw  myself  on 
the  ground,  physically  sick.  While  I  was  lying 
there  one  of  our  men  came  along,  searching  for 
a  place  to  bestow  himself.  He  gazed  inquir- 
ingly at  the  ground  I  had  just  filled  in. 

"Is  there  anybody  here?"  he  asked  me,  in- 
dicating the  place  with  a  pick-ax. 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  with  feeling,  "  there  is." 

"  It  looks  to  me,"  he  said,  "  as  if  some  one  be- 
gan digging  and  then  found  a  better  place.  If 
he  don't  come  back  soon  I  '11  take  it." 

For  about  fifteen  minutes  he  stood  there,  and 
I  lay  regarding  him  silently.  At  last  he  spoke 
again. 

97 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

"  I  think  I  '11  go  ahead,"  he  said.  "  Possession 
is  nine  points  of  the  law,  and  the  fellow  has  n't 
been  here  to  claim  it." 

"  I  would  n't  if  I  were  you,"  I  said.  "  That 
fellow  's  been  there  a  hell  of  a  long  while." 

I  left  him  there  digging,  and  crawled  away  to 
a  safe  distance.     In  a  few  minutes  he  passed  me. 

"  Why  did  n't  you  tell  me?  "  he  demanded,  re- 
proachfully. 

"  Because  half  of  the  company  saw  me  digging 
there  and  did  n't  tell  me,"  I  said. 

I  was  prospecting  around  for  another  place 
when  Art  Pratt  hailed  me.  "  Why  don't  you 
come  with  me,"  he  said,  "  instead  of  digging  an- 
other place?  " 

I  went  to  where  he  was  and  looked  at  the 
dugout.  It  was  n't  very  wide,  and  I  said  so. 
Together  we  began  widening  and  deepening  the 
dugout,  until  it  was  big  enough  for  the  two  of 
us.  It  was  grueling  work,  but  by  supper  time 
it  was  done.  The  night  before,  a  fatigue  party 
had  gone  down  to  the  beach  and  hauled  up  a  big 
field  kitchen.  Our  cooks  had  made  some  tea, 
and  we  had  been  issued  some  loaves  of  bread. 
Art  unrolled  a  large  piece  of  cloth,  with  all  the 
pomp  and  ceremony  of  a  man  unveiling  a  mouu- 

98 


DUGOUTS 

ment.  He  did  it  slowly  and  carefully.  There 
was  a  glitter  in  his  eyes  that  one  associates  with 
an  artist  exhibiting  his  masterpiece.  He  gave 
a  triumphant  switch  to  the  last  fold  and  held 
toward  me  a  large  joiece  of  fresh  juicy  steak. 

"  Beefsteak !  "  I  gasped.  "  Sacred  beefsteak ! 
Where  did  you  get  it?" 

Art  leaned  toward  me  mysteriously.  "  Of- 
ficers' mess/'  he  whispered. 

"  I  've  got  salt  and  pepper,"  I  said,  "  but  how 
are  you  going  to  cook  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Art,  ''  but  I  'm  going  up 
to  the  field  kitchen ;  there  's  some  condensed  milk 
that  I  may  be  able  to  get  hold  of  to  spread  on  our 
bread." 

While  Art  was  gone,  I  strolled  down  the  ra- 
vine a  little  way  to  where  some  of  the  Royal  En- 
gineers were  quartered.  The  Eoyal  Engineers 
are  the  men  who  are  looked  on  in  training  as  a 
noncombatant  force,  with  safe  jobs.  In  war- 
time they  do  no  fighting,  but  their  safe  jobs  con- 
sist of  such  harmless  work  as  fixing  up  barbed 
wire  in  front  of  the  parapet  and  setting  mines 
under  the  enemy's  trenches.  For  a  rest  they  are 
allowed  to  conduct  parties  to  listening  posts  and 
to  give  the  lines  for  advance  saps.     Sometimes 

99 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

thej  make  loopholes  in  the  parapet,  or  bolster 
up  some  redoubt  that  is  being  shelled  to  pieces. 
The  Turks  were  sending  over  their  compliments 
just  as  I  came  abreast  of  the  Engineers'  lines. 
One  of  the  engineers  was  sifting  some  gravel 
w^hen  the  first  shell  landed.  He  dropped  the 
sieve,  and  turned  a  back  somersault  into  some 
gorse-bushes  just  behind  him.  The  sieve  rolled 
down,  swayed  from  side  to  side,  and  settled  close 
to  my  head,  in  the  depression  where  I  was  con- 
scientiously emulating  an  ostrich.  I  gathered 
it  to  my  bosom  tenderly  and  began  crawling 
away.  From  behind  a  boulder  I  heard  the  engi- 
neer bemoaning  to  an  officer  the  loss  of  his  sieve, 
and  he  described  in  detail  how  a  huge  shell  had 
blown  it  out  of  his  hands.  Joyfully  I  returned 
to  Art  with  my  prize. 

"  What 's  that  for?  "  said  Art. 

"  Turn  it  upside  down,"  I  said,  "  and  it 's  a 
steak  broiler." 

"  Where  did  you  get  it?  "  said  Art, 

I  told  him,  and  related  how  the  engineer  had 
explained  it  to  his  officer. 

Up  at  the  field  kitchen  a  group  was  standing 
around. 

"  What 's  the  excitement?  "  I  asked  Art. 

100 


DUGOUTS 

"  Those  fellows  are  a  crowd  of  thieves,"  an- 
swered Art,  virtuously.  "  They  're  looking  about 
to  see  what  they  can  steal.  I  was  up  there  a  few 
minutes  ago  and  saw  a  can  of  condensed  milk 
lying  on  the  shaft  of  the  field  kitchen.  They 
were  watching  me  too  closely  to  give  me  a  chance, 
but  you  might  be  able  to  get  away  with  it." 

The  two  of  us  strolled  up  slowly  to  where  Hebe 
Wheeler,  the  creative  artist  who  did  our  cooking, 
was  holding  forth  to  a  critical  audience. 

"  It 's  all  very  well  to  talk  about  giving  you 
things  to  eat,  but  I  can't  cook  pancakes  without 
baking  powder.  You  can't  get  blood  out  of  a 
turnip.  I  'd  give  you  the  stuff  if  I  got  it  to  cook, 
but  I  don't  get  it,  do  I,  Corporal?  "  said  Hebe,  ap- 
pealing to  me. 

I  moved  over  and  stood  wath  my  back  to  the 
shaft  on  which  rested  the  tin  of  condensed  milk. 

"  No,  Hebe,"  I  said,  "  you  don't  get  the  things ; 
and  when  you  do  get  them,  this  crowd  steals  them 
on  you." 

"  By  God,"  said  Hebe,  "  that 's  got  to  be  put 
a  stop  to.  I  '11  report  the  next  man  I  find  steal- 
ing anything  from  the  cookhouse." 

I  put  my  hand  cautiously  behind  my  back,  un- 
til I  felt  my  fingers  close  on  the  tin  of  milk. 

101 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

"  You  let  me  know,  Hebe,"  I  said,  as  I  slipped  the 
tin  into  the  roomy  pocket  of  my  riding  breeches, 
"  and  I  '11  make  out  a  crime  sheet  against  the 
first  man  whose  name  you  give."  I  stayed  about 
ten  minutes  longer  talking  to  Hebe,  and  then 
returned  to  my  dugout.  Art  had  finished  broil- 
ing the  piece  of  steak,  and  we  began  our  supper. 
I  put  my  hand  in  my  breeches'  pocket  to  get  the 
milk.  Instead  of  grasping  the  tin,  my  fingers 
closed  on  a  sticky,  gluey  mass.  The  tin  had  been 
opened  when  I  took  it  and  I  had  it  in  my  pocket 
upside  down.  About  half  of  it  had  oozed  over 
my  pocket.  Art  was  just  pouring  the  remainder 
on  some  bread  when  some  one  lifted  the  rubber 
sheet  and  stuck  his  head  into  our  dugout.  It 
was  the  enraged  Hebe  Wheeler.  As  soon  as  he 
had  missed  his  precious  milk  he  had  made  a 
thorough  investigation  of  all  the  dugouts.  He 
looked  at  Art  accusingly, 

"  Come  in,  Hebe,"  I  said  pleasantly.  "  We 
don't  see  you  very  often." 

Hebe  paid  no  attention  to  my  invitation,  but 
glared  at  Art. 

"  I  've  caught  you  with  the  goods  on,"  he  said. 
"  Give  me  back  that  milk,  or  I  '11  report  you  to 
the  platoon  officer." 

102 


DUGOUTS 

"  You  can  report  me  to  Lord  Kitchener  if  you 
like,"  said  Art,  calmly,  as  he  drained  the  can; 
"  but  this  milk  stays  right  here." 

Hebe  disappeared,  breathing  vengeance. 

After  supper  that  night  a  crowd  sat  around  the 
dying  embers  of  one  of  the  fires.  This  was  one 
of  the  first  positions  we  had  been  in  where  there 
w^as  cover  suflficient  to  warrant  fires  being 
lighted.  A  mail  had  been  distributed  that  day, 
and  the  men  exchanged  items  of  news  and 
swapped  gossip.  There  were  men  there  from  all 
parts  of  Newfoundland.  They  spoke  in  at  least 
thirty  different  accents.  Any  one  who  made  a 
study  of  it  could  tell  easily  from  each  man's  ac- 
cent the  district  he  came  from.  Much  of  the 
mail  was  intimate,  and  necessitated  private  peru- 
sal, but  much  more  was  of  interest  to  others. 
It  was  interesting  to  hear  a  man  yell  to  a  friend 
who  came  from  his  same  "  bay  "  that  another 
man  had  enlisted  from  Eobinson's,  making  up 
eighteen  of  the  nineteen  men  of  fighting  age  in 
the  place.  Sometimes  the  new^s  was  that  "  Half 
has  volunteered,  and  Hed  was  turned  down  by 
the  doctor." 

This  from  some  resident  of  the  northern  parts 
where  the  fog  is  not,  and  where  aspirates  are  of 

103 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

little  consequence.  This  news  gives  rise  to  the 
opinion  that  "that's  the  hend  o'  Half."  This 
with  much  discussion  and  ominous  shaking  of 
the  head.  Sometimes  a  friend  of  the  absent 
"  Half  "  would  tell  of  Half's  exploit  of  stealing 
a  trolley  from  the  Reid  Newfoundland  Railway 
Company  and  going  twenty  miles  to  see  a  girl. 
Sometimes  the  hero  was  a  married  man.  Then 
it  was  opined  that  his  conjugal  relations  w^ere 
not  happy,  and  the  reason  he  enlisted  was  that 
"he  had  heard  something."  All  these  opinions 
and  suggestions  were  voiced  with  that  beautiful 
freedom  from  restraint  so  characteristic  of  the 
ordinary  conversation  of  the  members  of  our  reg- 
iment. Much  was  made  of  the  arrival  of  a  mail. 
It  did  not  happen  often,  and  the  letters  that  came 
were  three  or  four  months  old.  "  As  cold  wa- 
ters to  a  thirsty  soul,"  says  Solomon,  "  so  is  good 
news  from  a  far  country."  The  Newfoundland- 
ers in  that  barren,  scorched  country  caught  eag- 
erly at  every  shred  of  news  from  that  distant 
Northern  country  that  they  loved  enough  to  risk 
their  lives  for.  With  such  a  setting  it  is  little 
wonder  that  tlie  talk  was  much  of  home.  Be- 
hind the  persiflage  of  the  talk  there  was  a  poign- 
ant longing  for  those  dark,  cool  forests  of  pine 

104 


DUGOUTS 

where  the  caribou  roam,  and  the  broad-bosomed 
lakes  and  rivers  that  were  the  highways  for  the 
monsters  of  the  Northern  forests  on  their  jour- 
ney to  the  mills.  The  lumbermen  of  Notre  Dame 
Bay  and  Green  Bay  told  fearsome  and  wondrous 
tales  of  driving  and  swamping,  of  teaming  and 
landing,  until  one  almost  heard  the  blows  of  the 
ax,  the  "  gee  "  and  "  haw  "  of  the  teamsters,  and 
smelt  the  pungent  odor  of  new-cut  pine.  The 
Reid  Newfoundland  Railway,  the  single  narrow 
gage  road  that  twists  a  picturesque  trail  across 
the  Island,  had  given  largely  of  its  personnel  to- 
ward the  making  of  the  regiment.  Firemen  and 
engineers,  brakemen  and  conductors,  talked 
reminiscently  of  forced  runs  to  catch  expresses 
with  freight  and  accommodation  trains.  There 
is  an  interesting  tale  of  two  drivers  who  blew 
their  whistles  in  the  Morse  code,  and  kept  up 
communication  with  each  other,  until  a  girl 
learned  the  code  and  broke  up  the  friendship. 
A  steamship  fireman  contributed  his  quota  with 
a  story  of  laboring  through  mountainous  seas 
against  furious  tides  when  the  stokers'  utmost 
efforts  served  only  to  keep  steamers  from  losing 
way.  By  comparison  with  the  homeland,  Tur- 
key suffered  much;  and  the  things  they  said 

105 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

about  Gallipoli  were  lamentable.  From  the 
gloom  on  the  other  side  of  the  fire  a  voice  chanted 
softly,  "  It 's  a  long,  long  way  to  Tipperary,  It 's 
a  long  way  to  go."  Gradually  all  joined  in. 
After  Tijjperary,  came  many  marching  songs. 
"Are  we  downhearted?  NO,"  with  every  one 
booming  out  the  "  No."  "  Boys  in  Khaki,  Boys 
in  Blue,"  and  at  last  their  own  song;  to  the  tune 
of  "  There  is  a  tavern  in  the  town." 

And  when  those  Newfoundlanders  start  to  yell,  start  to  yell, 
Oh,  Kaiser  Bill,  you  '11  wish  you  were  iu  hell,  were  in  hell ; 
For  they  '11  hang  you  high  to  your  Potsdam  palace  wall, 
You  're  a  damn  poor  Kaiser,  after  all. 

The  singing  died  down  slowly.  The  talk  turned 
to  the  trenches  and  the  chances  of  victory,  and 
by  degrees  to  personal  impressions. 

"  I  'd  like  to  know,"  said  one  chap,  "  why  we 
all  enlisted." 

"  When  I  enlisted,"  said  a  man  with  an 
accent  reminiscent  of  the  Placentia  Bay,  "  I 
thought  there  'd  be  lots  of  fun,  but  with  weather 
like  this,  and  nothing  fit  to  eat,  there  's  not  much 
poetry  or  romance  in  war  any  more." 

"  Right  for  you,  my  son,"  said  another ;  "  your 
King  and  Country  need  you,  but  the  trouble  is 
to  make  your  King  and  Country  feed  you." 

106 


DUGOUTS 

"  Don't  you  wish  you  were  in  London  now, 
Gal?"  said  one  cliap,  turning  to  me.  "You'd 
have  a  nice  bed  to  sleep  in,  and  could  eat  any- 
where you  liked." 

"  Well,"  I  said,  "  enough  people  tried  to  per- 
suade me  to  stop.  One  fellow  told  me  that  the 
more  brains  a  man  had,  the  farther  away  he  was 
from  the  firing-line.  He  'd  been  to  the  front  too. 
I  think,"  I  added,  "  that  General  Sherman  had 
the  right  idea." 

"  I  wish  you  fellows  would  shut  up  and  go  to 
sleep,"  said  a  querulous  voice  from  a  nearby  dug- 
out. 

"  You  don't  know  what  you  're  talking  about. 
Gal;  General  Sherman  was  an  optimist." 

"  It  does  n't  do  any  good  to  talk  about  it  now," 
said  Art  Pratt,  in  a  matter  of  fact  voice.  "  Some 
of  you  enlisted  so  full  of  love  of  country  that 
there  was  patriotism  running  down  your  chin, 
and  some  of  you  enlisted  because  you  w^ere  dis- 
appointed in  love,  but  the  most  of  you  enlisted 
for  love  of  adventure,  and  you  're  getting  it." 

Again  the  querulous  subterranean  voice  inter- 
rupted :  "  Go  to  sleep,  you  fellows  —  there  's 
none  of  you  knows  what  you  're  talking  about. 
There  's  only  one  reason  any  of  us  enlisted,  and 

107 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

that 's  pure,  low  down,  unmitigated  ignorance." 
Amid  general  laughter  the  class  in  applied  psy- 
chology broke  up,  and  distributed  themselves  in 
their  various  dugouts. 

Halfway  down  to  my  dugout,  I  was  arrested 
by  the  sound  of  scuffling,  much  blowing  and  puff- 
ing, and  finally  the  satisfied  grunt  that  I  knew 
proceeded  from  Hebe  Wheeler. 

"  I  've  got  a  spy,"  he  yelled.  "  Here 's  a  bloody 
Turk." 

"  Turk  nothing,"  said  a  disgusted  voice. 
"  Don't  you  know  a  man  from  your  own  com- 
pany?" 

Hebe  relinquished  his  hold  on  his  captive  and 
subsided,  grumbling.  The  other  arose,  shook 
himself,  and  went  his  way,  voicing  his  opinion 
of  people  who  built  their  dugouts  flush  with  the 
ground. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  the  news  from  the 
Western  front?  "  said  Art,  when  I  located  him. 

"What  is  it?  "I  asked. 

"  The  enemy  are  on  the  run  at  the  Western 
front.  The  British  have  taken  four  lines  of  Ger- 
man trenches  for  a  distance  of  over  five  miles  in 
the  vicinity   of   Loos.     The   bulletin   board   at 

108 


DUGOUTS 

Brigade  headquarters  says  that  they  have  cap- 
tured several  large  guns,  a  number  of  machine 
guns,  and  seventeen  thousand  unwounded 
prisoners.  If  they  can  keep  this  up  long  enough 
for  the  Turks  to  realize  that  it  is  hopeless  to  ex- 
pect any  help  from  that  quarter,  Abdul  Pasha 
will  soon  give  in." 

We  were  talking  about  Abdul  Pasha's  sur- 
rendering when  we  dropped  off  to  sleep.  We 
must  have  been  asleep  about  two  hours  when  the 
insistent,  crackling  sound  of  rapid  fire,  momen- 
tarily increasing  in  volume,  brought  us  to  our 
feet.  Away  up  on  the  right,  where  the  Austra- 
lians were,  the  sky  was  a  red  glare  from  the  flash- 
ing of  many  rifles.  Against  this,  we  could  see 
the  occasional  flare  of  different  colored  rockets 
that  gave  the  warships  their  signals  for  shelling. 
Very  soon  one  of  our  officers  appeared. 

"  Stand  to  arms  for  the  Newfoundlanders,"  he 
said. 

"What  is  it?"  I  asked. 

*'  The  Australians  are  advancing,"  he  an- 
swered. "  We  '11  go  up  as  reinforcements  if 
we  're  needed.  Tell  your  men  to  put  on  their 
ammunition  belts,  and  have  their  rifles  ready. 

109 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

They  need  n't  put  on  their  packs ;  but  keep  them 
near  them  so  that  they  can  slip  them  on  if  we 
get  the  order  to  move  away." 

I  went  about  among  the  men  of  my  section, 
passing  along  the  word.  Everybody  was  tin- 
gling with  excitement.  Nobody  kncAV  just  what 
was  about  to  happen ;  but  every  one  thought  that 
whatever  it  was  it  would  prove  interesting.  For 
about  half  an  hour  the  rapid  fire  kept  up,  then  by 
degrees  died  down. 

"  Did  you  see  that  last  rocket?  "  said  a  man 
near  me ;  "  that  means  they  've  done  it.  A  red 
rocket  means  that  the  navy  is  to  fire,  a  green  to 
continue  firing,  and  a  white  one  means  that 
we  've  won.'' 

In  a  few  minutes  Mr.  Nunns  walked  toward 
us.  "  You  can  put  your  equipments  off,  and  turn 
in  again,"  he  said,  "  nothing  doing  to-night." 

"  What  is  all  the  excitement?  "  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  it 's  the  Anzacs  again,"  he  said ;  "  when 
they  heard  of  the  advance  at  Loos,  they  went  over 
across,  and  surprised  the  Turks.  They  've  taken 
two  lines  of  trenches.  They  did  it  without  any 
orders  —  just  wanted  to  celebrate  the  good 
news.'' 

I  was  awakened  the  next  morning  by  the  sound 

110 


DUGOUTS 

of  a  whizz-bang  flying  over  our  dugout.  Johnny 
Turk  was  sending  us  his  best  respects.  I  shook 
Art,  who  was  sleeping  heavily. 

"  Get  up,  Art,"  I  said.  I  might  as  well  have 
spoken  to  a  stone  wall.  I  tried  again.  Putting 
my  mouth  to  his  ear,  I  shouted,  "  Stand  to.  Art. 
Stand  to." 

Art  turned  over,  sleeping.  "  I  '11  stand  three 
if  you  like,  but  don't  disturb  me,"  he  muttered, 
and  relapsed  into  coma. 

In  a  few  minutes,  two  or  three  more  shells 
came  along.  They  were  well  over  the  ridge  be- 
hind us,  but  were  landing  almost  in  the  midst  of 
another  line  of  dugouts.  I  stood  gazing  at  them 
for  a  little  while.  A  man  passed  me  running 
madly.  "  Come  on,"  he  gasped,  "  and  yell  for 
the  stretcher."  I  followed  him  without  further 
question.  "  It 's  all  right,"  he  said,  slowing  up 
just  before  we  came  to  the  line  of  dugouts  that 
had  just  been  shelled.  "  Thej  've  got  him  all 
right."  We  continued  toward  a  group  that 
crowded  about  a  stretcher.  A  man  was  lying  on 
it,  with  his  head  raised  on  a  haversack.  He 
rolled  his  eyes  slowly  and  surveyed  the  group. 
"  What  the  hell  is  the  matter?  "  he  said  dazedly; 
then  felt  himself  over  gingerly  for  wounds.     Ap- 

111 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

parently  lie  could  find  none.  "  What  hit  me?  '* 
he  asked,  appealing  to  a  grinning  Red  Cross  man. 

"  Nothing,"  said  the  other,  "  except  about  a 
ton  of  earth.  It 's  a  lucky  thing  some  one  saw 
you.     That  last  shell  buried  you  alive." 

The  whistle  of  a  coming  shell  dispersed  the 
grinning  spectators.  I  went  back  to  my  dugout, 
and  found  Art  busily  toasting  some  bread  over 
the  sieve  that  I  had  commandeered  the  day  before. 

"  What  was  the  excitement?  "  he  asked. 

"  Charlie  Renouf,"  I  said,  "  was  buried  alive.'' 

"  Heavens,"  said  Art,  "  he  's  the  postman ;  we 
can't  afford  to  lose  him.  That  reminds  me  that 
I  've  got  to  write  some  letters." 

After  we  had  finished  breakfast,  Art  produced 
some  writing  paper  and  an  indelible  pencil.  I 
did  not  have  any  writing  paper,  but  I  contributed 
a  supply  of  service  postcards,  that  bear  such 
meager  information  as  "  I  am  quite  well,"  "  I  am 
sick,"  "  I  am  wounded,"  "  I  am  in  hospital  and 
doing  well,"  "  I  am  in  hospital  and  expect  to  be 
discharged  soon,"  "  I  have  not  heard  from  you 
for  a  long  time,"  "  I  have  had  no  letter  from  you 

since ,"  "  I  have  your  letter  of ,"   "  I 

have  received  your  parcel  of ,"  and  a  space 

for  the  date  and  the  signature.     When  a  man 

112 


3 
<J1 


V 

ja 
o 
a 

4) 

a 

o 

u 

o 
a 

'a 

o 


a 

3 

tic 
a 

"a 

OS 

a> 


DUGOUTS 

writes  home  from  the  front,  he  crosses  out  all 
but  the  sentences  he  wants  read,  puts  in  the  date, 
and  adds  his  signature.  This  is  the  ordinary 
means  of  communication.  About  once  a  week  a 
man  is  allowed  to  write  some  letters;  but  these 
are  censored  by  his  platoon  officer,  who  seals 
them,  and  signs  his  name  as  a  record  of  their 
having  been  passed  by  him.  Sometimes  the  cen- 
sor at  the  base  opens  a  few  of  them.  Perhaps 
once  a  fortnight  a  few  privileged  characters  are 
given  large  blue  envelopes,  that  have  printed  in 
the  corner: 

Note. — 
Correspondence  in   this  envelope   need   not  be  censored 

Regimentally.    The  contents  are  liable  to  examination   at 

the  Base. 

The  following  Certificate  must  be  signed  by  the  writer : 
/  certify  on  my  honour  that  the  contents  of  this  envelope 

refer  to  nothng  but  private  and  family  matters. 

Signature 

(Name  only) 

While  we  were  writing,  the  orderly  sergeant, 
that  dread  of  loafers,  who  appoints  all  details 
for  fatigue  work,  bore  down  upon  our  dugout. 
"  Two  men  from  you.  Corporal  Gallishaw,"  he 
said,  "  for  bomb  throwers.  Give  me  their  names 
as  soon  as  you  can.  They  're  for  practice  this 
afternoon." 

115 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

"  One  here,  right  away,"  said  Art,  "  and  put 
Lew  O'Dea  down  for  the  other." 

Lew  O'Dea  was  a  character.  He  was  in  the 
next  dugout  to  me.  The  first  day  on  the  Penin- 
sula, his  rifle  had  stuck  full  of  sand,  and  some 
one  had  stolen  his  tin  canteen  for  cooking  food. 
He  immediately  formed  himself  into  an  anti- 
poverty  society  of  one  thereafter,  and  went 
around  like  a  walking  arsenal.  I  never  saw  him 
with  fewer  than  three  rifles,  usually  he  carried 
half  a  dozen.  He  always  kept  two  or  three  of 
them  spotlessly  clean;  so  that  no  matter  when 
rifle  inspection  came,  he  always  had  at  least  one 
to  show.  He  had  been  a  little  late  in  getting  his 
rifle  clean  once  and  was  determined  not  to  be 
caught  any  more.  His  equipment  always  con- 
tained a  varied  assortment  of  canteens,  seven  or 
eight  gas  masks,  and  his  dugout  was  luxurious 
with  rubber  sheets  and  blankets.  "  I  inherited 
them,"  he  always  answered,  whenever  anybody 
questioned  him  about  them.  With  ammunition 
for  his  several  rifles,  when  he  started  for  the 
trenches  in  full  marching  order,  he  carried  a  load 
that  a  mule  need  by  no  means  have  been  ashamed 
of. 

"  Do  you  want  to  go  on  bomb  throwing  detail 

116 


DUGOUTS 

this  afternoon?  "  I  called  to  O'Dea  across  the  top 
of  the  dugout. 

"  Sure,"  he  answered ;  "  does  a  swim  want  to 
duck?" 

"  Fine,"  I  said ;  "  report  here  at  two  o'clock." 
At  two  o'clock,  accompanied  by  an  offlcer  and 
a  sergeant,  we  went  down  the  road  a  little  way 
to  where  some  Australians  were  conducting  a 
class  in  bomb  throwing.  A  brown-faced  chap 
from  Sydney  showed  me  the  difference  between 
bombs  that  you  explode  by  lighting  a  match, 
bombs  that  are  started  by  pulling  out  a  plug, 
and  the  dinky  little  three-second  "  cricket  balls  " 
that  explode  by  pressing  a  spring.  I  asked  him 
about  the  attack  the  night  before.  He  told  me 
that  they  had  been  for  some  time  waiting  for 
a  chance  to  make  a  local  advance  that  would 
capture  an  important  redoubt  in  the  Turkish 
line.  Every  night  at  exactly  nine  o'clock,  the 
Navy  had  thrown  a  searchlight  on  the  part 
of  the  line  the  Anzacs  wanted  to  capture.  For 
ten  minutes  they  kept  up  heavy  firing.  Then, 
after  a  ten  minutes'  interval  of  darkness  and 
suspended  firing,  they  began  a  second  illumina- 
tion and  bombardment,  commencing  always  at 
twenty  minutes  past  nine,  and  ending  precisely 

117 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

at  half  past.  After  a  little  while,  the  enemy, 
knowing  just  the  exact  minute  the  bombardment 
was  to  begin,  took  the  first  beam  of  the  search- 
light as  a  hint  to  clear  out.  But  the  night  before, 
a  crowd  of  eager  Australians  had  crept  softly 
along  in  the  shadow  made  doubly  dark  by  the 
glare  of  the  searchlight,  the  noise  of  their  advance 
covered  by  the  sound  of  the  bombardment.  As 
soon  as  the  bombardment  ceased  and  the  search- 
light's beam  was  succeeded  by  darkness,  they 
poured  into  the  Turkish  position.  They  had  taken 
the  astonished  Turks  completely  by  surprise. 

"  We  did  n't  expect  to  make  the  attack  for  an- 
other week,"  said  the  Australian ;  "  but  as  soon 
as  our  boys  heard  that  we  w^ere  winning  in 
France,  they  thought  they  'd  better  start  some- 
thing. There  has  n't  been  any  excitement  over 
our  way  now  for  a  long  time,"  he  said.  "  I  'm 
about  fed  up  on  this  waiting  around  the 
trenches."  He  fingered  one  of  the  little  cricket- 
ball  bombs  caressingly.  "  Think  of  it,"  he  said ; 
"  all  you  do  is  press  that  little  spring,  and  three 
seconds  after  you  're  a  casualty." 

"  Pressing  that  little  spring,"  said  I,  "  is  my 
idea  of  nothing  to  do,  unless  you  're  a  particu- 
larly fast  sprinter." 

118 


DUGOUTS 

''  By  the  Lord  Harry,  Newfoundland,"  said 
the  Australian,  with  a  peculiar,  excited  glint  in 
his  eye,  "  that 's  an  inspiration." 

"What's  an  inspiration?"  I  asked,  in  bewil- 
derment. 

The  Australian  stretched  himself  on  the 
ground  beside  me,  resting  his  chin  in  his  cupped 
hands.  "  When  I  was  in  Sydney,"  he  said 
slowly  and  thoughtfully,  "  I  did  a  hundred  yards 
in  ten  seconds  easily.  Now  if  I  can  get  in  a 
traverse  that 's  only  eight  or  nine  yards  long,  and 
press  the  spring  of  one  of  those  little  cricket 
balls,  I  ought  to  be  able  to  get  out  on  the  other 
side  of  the  traverse  before  it  explodes." 

Art  and  Lew  O'Dea  passed  along  just  then  and 
I  jumped  up  to  go  with  them.  "  Don't  forget  to 
look  for  me  if  you  're  over  around  the  Fifteenth 
Australians,"  said  the  Australian.  "Ask  for 
White  George." 

"  I  won't  forget,"  I  said,  as  I  hurried  away  to 
join  the  others. 

We  were  about  half  way  to  our  dugouts  when 
we  passed  a  string  of  our  men  carrying  about 
twenty  mail  bags.  It  was  the  second  instalment 
of  a  lot  of  mail  that  had  been  landed  the  day  be- 
fore.   We  followed  the  sweating  carriers  up  the 

119 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

road  to  the  quarter-master  sergeant's  dugout, 
and  waited  around  humbly  while  that  autocrat 
leisurely  sorted  out  the  mail,  making  remarks 
about  each  letter  and  waiting  after  each  remark 
for  the  applause  he  felt  it  deserved.  With  mad- 
dening deliberation  he  scanned  each  address. 
"  Corporal  W.  P.  Costello."  ''  He 's  at  the  base," 
some  one  answered.  Corporal  Costello's  letter 
was  put  aside.  "  Private  George  Butler." 
Private  Butler,  on  the  edge  of  the  crowd,  pushed 
and  elbowed  his  way  toward  the  quarter-master 
sergeant.  "Here  you  are;  letter  for  Butler." 
The  august  Q.  M.  S.  placed  the  letter  beside  his 
elbow.  "  Wait  till  the  lot 's  sorted,  and  you  '11 
get  them  all  together."  Private  Butler,  with  ill- 
restrained  impatience,  resumed  his  place  on  the 
outside.  After  the  letters,  the  parcels  had  to  be 
sorted.  Some  enterprising  person  at  the  base 
had  opened  a  lot  of  them.  One  fellow  received 
a  large  box  of  cigarettes  that  he  would  have  en- 
joyed smoking  if  the  man  at  the  base  had  not 
seen  them  first.  Art  Pratt  drew  a  lot  of  mail, 
including  a  parcel,  intact  except  for  the  contents. 
A  diligent  search  in  a  box  a  foot  square  failed  to 
locate  anything  more  than  a  pair  of  socks,  which 
Art   presented    to    me    with    his    compliments. 

120 


DUGOUTS 

Some  papers,  two  months  old,  with  some  casualty 
lists  of  the  First  Newfoundland  Regiment,  had 
no  address;  the  wrapper  had  gone  before,  some- 
where between  Newfoundland  and  the  Darda- 
nelles. Everybody  claimed  the  papers.  Vari- 
ous proofs  were  offered  to  show  the  ownership. 
One  fellow  knew  by  the  way  they  were  rolled 
up  that  they  were  from  his  family.  Another, 
more  original  than  the  rest,  was  certain  they 
were  his,  because  he  had  written  for  papers  of 
those  dates,  in  order  to  see  the  announcement 
of  the  casualty  of  a  friend.  It  was  pointed  out 
derisively  that  a  letter  written  after  that  cas- 
ualty had  occurred  would  only  then  have  reached 
Newfoundland;  and  to  get  a  lot  of  papers  in 
reply  would  be  a  physical  impossibility.  The 
claimant,  in  no  wise  abashed,  suggested  that  lots 
be  drawn.  This  was  pooh-poohed.  At  last,  to 
avoid  discussion,  the  quarter-master  sergeant 
took  the  papers  himself,  and  put  them  in  his 
greatcoat.  "  I  '11  distribute  them  after  I  've 
read  them,"  he  announced,  and  pulled  the  rubber 
sheet  across  the  top  of  his  dugout,  as  a  delicate 
hint  that  the  interview  was  finished.  The  crowd 
slowly  melted  away.  I  received  one  letter,  and 
was  sitting  on  the  edge  of  my  dugout  reading  it 

121 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

when  one  of  our  men  passing  along,  yelled  to 
me.  "  Hey,"  lie  said,  "  you  come  from  the 
United  States,  don't  you?" 

"  Yes,"  I  said ;  "  what  do  you  want  to  know 
that  for?  " 

"  I  've  got  something  here,"  he  said,  stopping, 
"  that  comes  from  there  too."  He  dived  into  his 
pocket,  and  produced  a  medley  of  articles. 
From  these  he  selected  a  small  paper-wrapped 
parcel. 

"What's  that?  "I  said. 

"  It 's  chewing  gum,"  he  answered ;  "  real 
American  chewing  gum  like  the  girls  chew  in 
the  subway  in  New  York."  He  unwrapped  it, 
selected  a  piece,  placed  it  in  his  mouth,  and  began 
chewing  it  with  elaborated  enjoyment.  After  a 
few  minutes,  he  came  nearer.  "  By  golly,"  he 
said,  with  an  exaggerated  nasal  drawl,  "  it 's 
good  gum,  I  '11  soon  begin  to  feel  like  a  bloom- 
ing Yank.  I  'm  talking  like  a  Yank  already. 
Don't  you  wish  you  had  some  of  this?  " 

"  I  '11  make  you  a  sporting  offer,"  I  answered. 
"  I  '11  fight  you  for  the  rest  of  what  you  've  got." 

"  No,  you  won't,"  he  answered  nasally ;  "  it 's 
made  me  feel  exactly  like  a  Yank ;  I  'm  too  proud 
to  fight." 

122 


CHAPTER  V 

WAITING  FOR  THE  WAR  TO   CEASE 

WE  were  still  in  dugouts  when  Art  Pratt 
woke  me  one  morning  with  a  vicious  kick, 
to  show  me  my  boots  lying  outside  of  the  dugout, 
filled  with  rain  water.  All  the  night  before  it 
had  poured  steadily,  but  now  it  was  clearing 
nicely.  The  Island  of  Imbros,  fifteen  miles 
away,  that  seemed  to  draw  a  great  deal  nearer 
before  every  rainstorm,  had  retreated  to  its  nor- 
mal position.  The  sky  was  still  gray,  but  it  was 
the  leaden  gray  of  a  Turkish  autumn  day.  From 
Suvla  Bay  the  wind  blew  keen  and  piercing.  I 
salved  the  boots  from  the  rain  puddle,  emptied 
them,  dried  them  out  as  best  I  could  with  my 
puttees,  and  put  them  on.  Art,  in  his  own 
inimitable  way,  said  unprintable  things  about  a 
rifle  that  had  been  left  outside,  and  that  now 
necessitated  laborious  cleaning,  in  time  for  rifle 
inspection.  All  through  breakfast,  Lew  O'Dea 
elaborated  on  the  much-quoted  remarks  of  the 

123 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

Governor  of  North  Carolina  to  the  Governor  of 
South  Carolina.  Rum  had  not  been  issued  as 
per  schedule  the  evening  before.  Art  began  a 
maliciously  fabricated  story  of  a  conversation  he 
had  heard  in  which  a  senior  oflBcer  had  stated 
that  now  that  the  cold  weather  had  come,  there 
would  be  no  more  rum.  Just  then,  some  one 
shouted,  to  "  Look  up  in  the  sky,"  From  the 
direction  of  the  trenches  a  dark  cloud  was  com- 
ing rapidly  toward  us.  (A  few  nights  before, 
while  we  were  in  trenches,  w^e  had  been  ordered 
to  put  on  our  gas  masks;  for,  a  little  to  the 
right  of  us,  the  Turks  had  turned  the  poison  gas 
on  the  Gurkhas. )  At  first,  the  dark  mass  in  the 
sky  appeared  to  some  to  be  poison  gas.  They 
immediately  dived  for  their  gas  masks.  As  it 
came  nearer,  however,  we  were  able  to  distin- 
guish that  it  was  not  a  cloud,  but  a  huge  flock 
of  wild  geese,  beginning  their  southern  migra- 
tion. O'Dea  selected  a  rifle  from  his  collection, 
loaded  it,  and  waited  till  the  geese  were  almost 
directly  overhead;  then,  amid  derisive  cheering, 
he  fired  ten  rounds  at  them.  They  were  much 
too  high  in  air  for  a  successful  shot,  even  if  he 
had  used  gunshot;  but  even  after  they  were  al- 
most over  Imbros  Island,  Lew  continued  firing. 

124 


WAITING 

When  an  officer,  arrived,  demanding  sarcasti- 
cally if  Lew  O'Dea  would  n't  sooner  send  some 
written  invitations  to  the  Turks  to  shell  us,  he 
subsided,  and  began  cleaning  his  artillery.  Un- 
til then,  we  had  been  wearing  thin  khaki  duck 
uniforms  with  short  pants  that  made  us  look 
like  boy  scouts.  We  had  found  these  rather  cool 
at  night ;  but  in  the  hot  days  w^e  preferred  them 
to  the  heavy  khaki  drill  uniforms  that  w^ere  kept 
in  kit  bags  at  the  beach.  I  had  landed  without 
a  kit  bag,  and  the  change  of  uniform  I  kept  in 
the  pack  I  carried  on  my  back.  A  little  while 
before,  I  had  put  on  the  heavy  uniform  and 
thrown  away  the  light  weight  one.  On  the  Pe- 
ninsula, when  you  have  to  w^alk  with  all  your 
possessions  on  your  back,  each  additional  ounce 
counts  for  much.  As  soon  as  we  found  that  it 
was  impossible  to  get  water  to  wash  or  shave  in, 
we  threw  away  our  towels  and  soap.  A  few  kept 
their  razors.  The  only  thing  I  hung  on  to  was 
my  tooth  brush  —  not  for  its  legitimate  purpose, 
but  to  clean  the  sand  and  grit  out  of  my  rifle. 

"  Go  over  and  ask  Mr.  Nunns,"  said  Art  to 
me,  while  w^e  were  cleaning  our  rifles,  "  if  he  '11 
give  us  a  pass  to  go  down  to  the  beach  to  find  my 
kit  bag.     1 11  finish  cleaning  your  rifle  while  you 

125 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

go  over."  I  banded  tlie  rifle  to  Art,  and  went 
over  to  look  for  Mr.  Nunns.  When  I  found  him 
he  was  censoring  some  letters. 

"  You  'd  better  wait  till  this  afternoon,  before 
going,"  he  said.  "  I  want  you  to  take  twenty 
men  and  carry  up  ten  boxes  of  ammunition  to 
the  firing  line,  where  A  Company  are.  They  're 
coming  out  to-morrow  night  and  we  're  to  relieve 
them.  He  gave  me  a  pass,  and  I  took  it  over  to 
Art. 

"  You  can  go  down  this  morning  if  you  like," 
I  said,  "  or  you  can  wait  till  I  get  back  from  this 
ammunition  detail." 

"  If  you  're  not  later  than  two  o'clock,"  said 
Art,  "  I  '11  wait  for  you." 

I  found  the  detail  of  twenty  men  for  ammuni- 
tion-carrying waiting  for  me  near  the  field 
kitchen.  We  crawled  cautiously  along  some 
open  ground,  past  the  quarter-master's  dugout 
and  the  dugouts  that  were  dignified  by  the  name 
of  orderly  room,  where  the  colonel  and  adjutant 
conducted  the  clerical  business  of  the  battalion, 
issued  daily  orders,  and  sentenced  defaulters. 
"  Napoleon  knew  what  was  what,"  said  the  man 
near  me,  as  he  wriggled  along,  "  when  he  said 
that  an  army  fights  on  its  stomach.     I  've  been 

126 


WAITING 

on  my  stomach  half  the  time  since  I  've  been  in 
Gallipoli."  We  straightened  up  when  we  came 
to  the  communication  trench  that  gave  us  cover 
from  snipers.  Ordinarily  we  walked  upright 
when  we  were  behind  the  lines,  but  for  a  few 
days  past  enemy  snipers  had  T3een  extraordi- 
narily active.  The  Turkish  snipers  were  the 
most  effective  part  of  their  organization.  Each 
sniper  was  armed  with  a  rifle  with  telescopic 
sights.  With  a  rifle  so  equipped,  a  good  shot  can 
hit  a  man  at  seven  hundred  yards,  just  as  easily 
as  the  ordinary  soldier  can  shoot  at  one  hun- 
dred. 

The  ten  boxes  of  ammunition  were  very  heavy, 
and  the  heat  of  the  day  necessitated  a  great  many 
rests,  before  we  reached  the  part  of  the  line  held 
by  A  Company.  A  Company  had  been  losing 
heavily  for  a  day  or  two  because  of  snipers.  A 
couple  of  the  men  were  talking  about  it  when 
I  came  along. 

"  I  don't  see,"  one  of  them  was  saying,  "  how 
they  can  get  us  at  night." 

"  It 's  this  way,"  explained  the  other.  "  The 
cigarette  makers  send  their  snipers  out  some- 
time at  night.  Instead  of  going  back  that  night 
they  stay  out  for  a  week,  or  longer.     All  the  ra- 

127 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

tion  Johnny  Turk  needs  is  a  swallow  of  water, 
some  onions,  or  olives,  and  a  biscuit  or  two." 

"  How  is  it,"  I  asked,  "  we  don't  see  them  in 
the  daytime?" 

"  It 's  this  way,"  said  the  A  Company  man. 
"He  paints  himself,  his  rifle,  and  his  clothes 
green.  Then  he  twists  some  twigs  and  branches 
around  him  and  kids  you  he  's  a  tree." 

"  The  way  they  do  in  this  part  of  the  trench," 
said  another  man  who  had  been  listening  to  the 
conversation,  "  is  to  work  in  pairs.  They  get  a 
dugout  somewhere  where  they  can  get  a  pretty 
good  view  of  our  trenches.  They  see  where  we 
move  about  most,  and  aim  their  machine  gun  at 
the  top  of  the  parapet.  Then  they  clamp  it 
down.  At  night  when  the  sentries  are  posted, 
they  simply  press  the  trigger,  and  there  are  some 
more  casualties." 

"  You  've  got  to  hand  it  to  Johnny  Turk,  just 
the  same,"  said  the  first  man.  "  One  of  them 
will  stand  up  in  his  dugout  in  broad  daylight, 
exposed  from  his  waist  up,  and  give  you  a  chance 
to  pot  him,  so  that  his  mate  can  get  you.  We 
used  to  lose  men  that  way  first.  As  soon  as  we 
aimed,  the  second  sniper  turned  his  machine  gun 
on  us  and  got  our  man.     Now  we  've  found  a 

128 


WAITING 

better  way.  We  stick  a  helmet  up  on  top  of  a 
rifle  just  above  the  parapet,  and  fire  from  an- 
other part  of  the  trench." 

"  We  've  been  having  trouble  with  them  down 
In  dugouts,"  I  said.  "  Some  of  the  fellows  say 
it 's  stray  bullets,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  they  're 
going  too  fast  to  be  spent.  You  can  tell  a  bullet 
that 's  spent  by  the  sound." 

One  of  the  A  Company  sergeants  who  had  been 
listening  to  discussion  joined  in.  "  It 's  snipers 
all  right,"  he  said.  "  It 's  easy  enough  for  a 
German  oflflcer  to  get  into  our  trenches.  Men 
are  coming  in  all  the  time  from  working  parties, 
and  night  patrols,  and  the  engineers  go  back  and 
forth  every  hour  or  so  fixing  up  the  barb  wire. 
Only  a  little  while  ago  they  found  one  fellow. 
He  had  stripped  a  uniform  from  one  of  our  dead, 
dressed  himself  in  it,  and  walked  up  to  our  para- 
pet one  night.  The  sentry  did  n't  know  the  dif- 
ference, because  the  other  fellow  spoke  good  Eng- 
lish, so  he  let  him  pass.  All  they  have  to  do  is 
say  '  What  ho,'  or,  '  Where 's  the  Dublin's  sec- 
tion of  trench? '     They  can  get  by  all  right." 

The  officer  to  whom  I  had  delivered  the  am- 
munition sent  word  that  it  had  been  checked  and 
that  we  could  return  to  our  company.    We  were 

129 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

only  a  short  distance  down  the  communication 
trench  when  a  party  of  officers  came  along.  We 
drew  a  little  to  one  side,  and  stopped  to  let  them 
pass.  Not  one  of  them  was  under  the  rank  of 
lieutenant-colonel,  and  one  of  them  was  a  gen- 
eral. He  was  a  rather  tall,  spare  man,  with  a 
drooping  brown  mustache.  He  was  most  unlike 
the  usual  type  of  gruff,  surly  general  officers  in 
charge.  His  eyes  had  a  kindly,  friend-of-the- 
family  sort  of  twinkle.  His  type  was  more  like 
a  superintendent  of  construction,  or  a  kindly  old 
family  physician.  "  Look  at  the  ribbons  on  the 
old  boy's  chest,"  said  the  man  near  me.  "  He  's 
got  enough  medals  to  make  a  keel  for  a  battle- 
ship." In  the  British  army,  those  who  have  seen 
previous  service  wear  on  the  breast  of  their 
tunics  the  ribbons  for  each  campaign.  The  gen- 
eral halted  his  red-tabbed  staff  where  we  stood. 

"Are  you  Newfoundlanders,  Corporal?"  he 
said  to  me. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  I  answered. 

"  They  've  made  it  pretty  warm  for  you  since 
you  've  been  here,"  he  added,  with  a  smile. 
"  Your  men  are  most  efficient  trench  diggers.  If 
I  had  an  army  like  them,  we  'd  dig  our  way  to 
Constantinople."    With  that  he  passed  on  with 

130 


p 

p 

c- 

5' 


o 

o 

o 


s 

•a 
o 


cr 

D 

p 

>-t 

P 


ftl 


CD 


o 
o 


cr 
p 


WAITING 

a  smile.  A  pompous-looking  sergeant  brought 
up  the  rear  of  the  general's  escort. 

"  Who  was  that,  that  just  spoke  to  us,  Ser- 
geant?" I  asked. 

The  sergeant  surveyed  me  contemptuously. 
"  Is  it  possible  that  you  don't  know  'im.  'E  's 
General  Sir  Ian  Hamilton,  General  Commander- 
in-Chief  of  the  Mediterranean  Force,  'e  is." 

General  Sir  Ian  Hamilton  has  won  the  un- 
questioned devotion  of  the  First  Newfoundland 
Regiment.  Many  times  after  that,  he  visited  the 
front  line  trenches  and  stopped  to  exchange  a 
few  words  with  men  here  and  there.  It  is  a  cu- 
rious thing  that  while  the  young  subaltern  lieu- 
tenants held  themselves  very  much  aloof,  the 
senior  officers  chatted  amiably  with  our  men. 
The  Newfoundlanders,  democratic  to  the  core, 
hated  anything  that  in  the  least  savored  of 
"  side,"  and  they  admired  the  courage  of  a  gen- 
eral officer  who  took  his  chances  in  the  firing 
line. 

Art  was  waiting  for  me  when  I  reached  the 
dugout  after  my  ammunition  fatigue.  I  accom- 
panied him  down  the  mule  path  that  led  along 
the  edge  of  the  Salt  Lake  to  West  Beach,  where 
we  had  made  our  landing  the  first  night.     The 

133 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

place  looked  very  different  now.  Under  the 
shelter  of  the  beetling  cliffs,  the  engineers  had 
constrncted  dugouts  of  all  sorts.  The  beach  was 
piled  high  with  boxes  of  beef,  biscuits,  jam,  lime 
juice,  and  rum.  At  the  top  of  the  hill,  a  tem- 
porary dressing  station  for  the  wounded  had  been 
built;  and  nearer  the  beach  was  a  clearing  sta- 
tion, from  which  the  wounded  were  taken  by 
motor  ambulance  to  the  hospital  ship.  At  dif- 
ferent points  along  the  beach,  piers  had  been 
built  for  the  landing  of  supplies  and  troops,  and 
for  the  loading  of  wounded  into  lighters  to  be 
taken  to  the  hospital  ships  waiting  out  in  deeper 
w^ater.  The  Australians  had  put  up  a  wire  fence 
around  a  part  of  beach  and  used  it  for  a  grave- 
yard. We  found  the  man  in  charge  of  the  kit 
bags  of  the  Newfoundlanders,  and  after  much 
search  located  Art's  bag,  and  took  out  the  stuff 
we  wanted.  On  the  way  back,  in  a  little  ravine 
just  on  the  edge  of  the  Salt  Lake,  we  came  upon 
two  horsemen.  They  were  General  Hamilton 
and  his  aide.  The  general  returned  our  salute 
smilingly. 

"Who  is  it?"  said  Art. 

'*  It 's  Sir  Ian  Hamilton,"  I  said.     "  Does  n't 

134 


WAITING 

he  look  like  the  sort  of  man  it  would  be  wise  to 
confide  in?  " 

"  Yes,  he  does,"  said  Art.  "  Evidently  he  has 
confidence  in  our  troops'  ability  to  hold  their 
own/'  added  Art.  "  The  Turks  have  four  lines  of 
trenches  to  fall  back  on ;  we  have  only  one  firing- 
line." 

There  was  the  same  group  around  the  field 
kitchen  when  we  arrived  back  at  our  lines.  They 
were  swapping  yarns  and  telling  stories  with  a 
lurid  intermixture  of  profanity  and  a  liberal 
sprinkling  of  trench  slang.  To  me,  one  of  the 
most  interesting  side  lights  of  the  war  is  the 
slang  that  forms  a  great  part  of  the  vocabulary 
of  the  trenches.  Early  morning  tea,  when  we 
got  it,  was  "gun-fire."  A  Turk  was  never  a 
Turk.  He  was  a  Turkey,  Abdul  Pasha,  or  a 
cigarette  maker.  A  regiment  is  a  "  mob."  A 
psychologist  would  have  been  interested  to  see 
that  nobody  ever  spoke  of  a  comrade  as  having 
died  or  been  killed,  but  had  "  gone  west."  All 
the  time  I  was  at  the  front,  I  never  heard  one 
of  our  men  say  that  another  had  been  killed.  A 
man  who  was  killed  in  our  regiment  had  "  lost 
his  can,"  although  this  referred  most  particu- 

135 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

larly  to  men  shot  through  the  head.  Ordinarily 
a  dead  man  was  called  a  "  washout  " ;  or  it  was 
said  that  he  had  "  copped  it."  The  caution  to 
keep  your  head  down  always  came,  "  Keep  your 
napper  down  low."  To  get  wounded  with  one  of 
our  own  bullets  was  to  get  a  "  dose  of  three-o 
three."  The  bullet  has  a  diameter  of  three-hun- 
dred-and-three  thousandths  of  an  inch. 

Mr.  Nunus  came  toward  the  group,  looking 
for  Stenlake.  It  was  Sunday  afternoon,  and  he 
thought  it  would  be  well  to  have  a  service.  Sten- 
lake was  found,  and  a  crowd  trailed  after  him 
to  an  empty  dugout,  where  he  gathered  them 
about  him  and  began.  It  was  a  simple,  sincere 
service.  Out  there  in  that  barren  country,  it 
seemed  a  strange  thing  to  see  those  rough  men 
gathered  about  Stenlake  while  he  read  a  passage 
or  led  a  hymn.  But  it  was  most  impressive. 
The  service  was  almost  over,  and  Stenlake  was 
offering  a  final  prayer,  when  the  Turkish  batter- 
ies opened  fire.  Ordinarily  at  the  first  sound  of 
a  shell,  men  dived  for  shelter;  but  gathered 
around  that  dugout,  where  a  single  shell  could 
have  wrought  awful  havoc,  not  a  man  stirred. 
They  stayed  motionless,  heads  bowed  reverently, 
until  Stenlake  had  finished.     Then  quietly  they 

136 


WAITING 

dispersed.  As  a  lesson  in  faith  it  was  most  il- 
luminating. 

It  was  strange  to  see  week  by  week  the  psy- 
chological change  that  had  come  over  the  men. 
Most  of  all  I  noticed  it  in  the  songs  they  sang. 
At  first  the  songs  had  been  of  a  boisterous  char- 
acter, that  foretold  direful  things  that  would 
happen  to  the  Kaiser  and  his  family  "  As  we  go 
marching  through  Germany."  These  had  all 
given  place  to  songs  that  voiced  to  some  extent 
the  longing  for  home  that  possessed  these  volun- 
tary exiles.  "  I  want  to  go  back  to  Michigan  " 
was  a  favorite.  Perhaps  even  more  so  was 
"  The  little  gray  home  in  the  West."  "  Tipper- 
ary "  was  still  in  demand,  not  because  of  the 
lilt  of  a  march  that  it  held,  but  for  the  pathetic 
little  touch  of  "  my  heart 's  right  there,"  and 
perhaps  for  the  reference  to  "the  sweetest  girl 
I  know." 

Perhaps  it  may  have  been  the  effect  of  Sten- 
lake's  service,  or  it  may  have  been  the  news  that 
we  were  to  go  into  the  firing  line  the  next  day, 
that  made  the  men  seek  their  dugouts  early  that 
Sunday  evening.  But  there  was  something 
heavy  in  the  air  that  night.  For  almost  a  week 
we  had  been  comparatively  safe  in  dugouts.     To- 

137 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

morrow  we  were  again  to  go  into  the  firing  line 
and  wait  imi^otentlj  while  our  number  was  re- 
duced gradually  but  pitilessly.  The  hopeless- 
ness of  the  thing  seemed  clearer  that  evening 
than  any  other  time  we  had  been  there.  Simp- 
son, "  the  Man  with  the  Donkeys,"  had  been 
killed  that  day.  After  a  whole  summer  in  which 
he  seemed  to  be  impervious  to  bullets,  a  stray 
bullet  had  caught  him  in  the  heart  on  his  way 
down  Shrapnel  Valley  with  a  consignment  of 
wounded.  Simpson  had  been  so  much  a  part  of 
the  Peninsular  life  that  it  was  hard  to  realize 
that  he  had  gone  to  swell  the  list  of  heroes  that 
Australia  has  so  much  cause  to  be  proud  of.  A 
Company  had  suffered  heavily  in  the  front  line 
trenches  that  day.  A  number  of  stretchers  had 
passed  down  the  road  that  ran  in  front  of  our 
dugouts,  with  A  Company  men  for  the  dressing 
station  on  the  beach.  Snipers  had  been  busy. 
From  the  A  Comj^any  stretcher-bearers  came 
news  that  others  had  been  killed.  One  piece  of 
news  filtered  slowly  down  to  us  that  evening, 
that  had  an  unaccountably  strange  effect  on  the 
men  of  B  Company.  Sam  Lodge  had  been  killed. 
Sam  Lodge  was  perhaps  the  most  widely  known 
man  in  the  whole  regiment.     There  were  very 

138 


WAITING 

few  Newfoundlanders  who  did  not  think  kindly 
of  the  big,  quiet,  reliable  looking  college  man. 
He  had  enlisted  at  the  very  first  call  for  volun- 
teers. Other  men  had  been  killed  that  day ;  and 
since  the  regiment  had  been  at  Gallipoli,  men 
had  stood  by  while  their  dugout  mates  were  torn 
by  shrapnel  or  sank  down  moaning,  with  a 
sniper's  bullet  in  the  brain ;  but  nothing  had  ever 
had  the  same  effect,  at  any  rate  on  the  men  of 
our  company,  as  the  news  that  Sam  Lodge  had 
been  killed  that  day.  Perhaps  it  was  that  every- 
body knew  him.  Other  nights  men  had  crowded 
around  the  fire,  telling  stories,  exchanging  gos- 
sip, or  singing.  To-night  all  was  quiet;  there 
was  not  even  the  sound  of  men  creeping  about 
from  dugout  to  dugout,  visiting  chums.  Sud- 
denly, from  away  up  on  the  extreme  right  end 
of  the  line  of  dugouts,  came  the  sound  of  a  clear 
tenor  voice,  singing,  "  Tenting  To-night  on  the 
Old  Camp  Ground."  Never  have  I  heard  any- 
thing so  mournful.  It  is  impossible  to  describe 
the  penetrating  pathos  of  the  old  Civil  War  song. 
Slowly  the  singer  continued,  amidst  a  profound 
hush.  His  voice  sank,  until  one  could  scarcely 
catch  the  words  when  he  sang,  "  Waiting  for  the 
war  to  cease."    At  last  he  finished.     There  was 

139 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

scarcely  a  stir,  as  the  men  dropped  off  to  sleep. 
It  was  a  quiet,  sober  lot  of  men  who  filed  into 
a  shady,  tree-dotted  ravine  the  next  day  behind 
the  stretcher  that  bore  the  remains  of  Private 
Sam  Lodge.  Stenlake  read  the  burial  service. 
Everybody  who  could  turned  out  to  pay  their 
last  respects  to  the  best  liked  man  in  the  regi- 
ment. After  the  brief  service.  Colonel  Burton, 
the  commanding  officer.  Captain  Carty,  Lodge's 
company  commander,  a  group  of  senior  and 
junior  officers,  and  a  number  of  profoundly  af- 
fected soldiers  gathered  about  the  grave  while 
the  body  was  lowered  into  it.  In  the  shade  of 
a  spreading  tree,  within  sound  of  the  mournful 
wash  of  the  tide  in  Suvla  Bay,  lies  poor  Sam 
Lodge,  a  good,  cheerful  soldier,  uncomplaining 
always,  a  man  whose  last  thought  was  for  others. 
''  Don't  bother  to  lift  me  down  off  the  parapet, 
boys,"  he  had  said  when  he  was  hit ;  "  I  'm  fin- 
ished.'^ 


140 


CHAPTER  VI 

NO   man's   land 

OUR  dugouts  were  located  about  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  inland  from  the  edge  of  the  Salt 
Lake.  Somewhere  at  the  other  side  of  the  Salt 
Lake  was  the  cleverly  concealed  landing  place  of 
the  aeroplane  service.  Commander  Sampson, 
who  had  been  in  action  since  the  beginning  of  the 
war,  was  in  charge  of  the  aeroplane  squadron. 
One  day,  by  clever  manoeuvering  he  forced  one 
of  the  enemy  planes,  a  Taube,  away  from  its  own 
lines  and  back  over  the  Salt  Lake.  Here  after  a 
spectacular  fight  in  mid  air,  Sampson  forced  the 
other  to  surrender  and  captured  his  machine. 
The  Taube  he  thereafter  used  for  daily  recon- 
naissance. Every  afternoon  we  watched  him 
hover  over  the  Turkish  lines,  circle  clear  of  their 
bursting  shrapnel,  poising  long  enough  to  com- 
plete his  observations,  then  return  to  the  Salt 
Lake  with  his  report  for  our  artillery  and  the 

141 


TKENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

navy.  The  day  after  Sam  Lodge's  burial,  we 
watched  two  hostile  'planes  chase  Sampson  back 
right  to  our  trenches.  When  they  came  near 
enough,  our  men  opened  rapid  fire  that  forced 
them  to  turn;  but  before  Sampson  reached  his 
landing  place  at  Salt  Lake,  we  could  see  that  he 
was  in  trouble.  One  of  the  wings  of  his  machine 
was  drooping  badly.  From  the  other  side  of  the 
Salt  Lake,  a  motor  ambulance  was  tearing  along 
towards  the  place  where  he  was  expected  to  land. 
The  Taube  sank  gradually  to  the  ground,  the  am- 
bulance drew  up  to  within  about  thirty  feet  of 
it,  and  turned  about,  waiting.  We  saw  Sampson 
jump  out  of  his  seat,  almost  before  the  machine 
touched  the  ground,  and  walk  to  the  waiting  am- 
bulance. The  ambulance  had  just  started,  when 
a  shell  from  a  Turkish  gun  hit  the  prostrate 
aeroplane  and  tore  a  large  hole  in  it.  With 
marvelous  precision,  the  Turkish  battery  pumped 
three  or  four  shells  almost  on  top  of  the  first. 
In  a  few  minutes,  all  that  was  left  of  the  Taube 
was  a  twisted  mass  of  frame  work ;  of  the  wings, 
not  a  fragment  remained. 

But  although  Sampson  had  lost  his  'plane,  he 
had  completed  his  mission.  About  half  an  hour 
later,  the  navy  in  the  bay  began  a  bombardment. 

142 


NO  MAN'S  LAND 

We  could  see  the  men-o'-war  lined  up,  pouring 
broadsides  over  our  heads  into  the  Turkish 
trenches.  First,  we  saw  the  gray  ships  calmly 
riding  the  waves;  then,  from  their  sides  came 
puffs  of  whitish  gray  smoke,  and  the  flash  of  the 
discharge,  followed  by  the  jarring  report  of  the 
explosion.  Around  the  bend  of  Anafarta  Bay, 
we  saw  creeping  in  a  strange,  low-lying,  awk- 
ward-looking craft  that  reminded  one  of  the 
barges  one  sees  used  for  dredging  harbors.  It 
was  one  of  the  new  monitors,  the  most  efiflciently 
destructive  vessel  in  the  navy.  Soon  the  artil- 
lery on  the  land  joined  in.  About  four  o'clock 
the  bombardment  had  started ;  and  all  that  after- 
noon the  terrific  din  kept  up.  When  we  went 
into  the  firing  line  that  evening  at  dark,  the  bom- 
bardment was  still  going  on.  About  nine  o'clock 
it  stopped ;  but  at  three  the  next  morning,  it  was 
resumed  with  even  greater  force.  The  part  of 
the  line  we  were  holding  was  in  a  valley ;  to  the 
right  and  left  of  us,  the  trenches  ran  up  hill. 
From  our  position  in  the  middle,  we  had  a  splen- 
did view  of  the  other  parts  of  the  line.  All  that 
morning  the  bombardment  kept  up.  Our  gun- 
ners were  concentrating  on  the  trenches  well  up 
the  hill  on  the  left.     First  Ave  watched  our  shells 

143 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

demolish  the  enemy's  front  line  trench.  Im- 
mense shells  shrieked  through  the  air  above  our 
heads  and  lauded  in  the  Turks'  firing  line. 
Gradually  but  surely  the  huge  projectiles  bat- 
tered down  the  enemy  defenses.  The  Turks 
stuck  to  their  ground  manfully,  but  at  last  they 
had  to  give  up.  Through  field  glasses  we  could 
see  the  communication  trenches  choked  with 
fleeing  Turks.  Some  of  our  artillery,  to  prevent 
their  escape,  concentrated  on  the  support 
trenches.  This  manceuver  served  a  double  pur- 
pose: besides  preventing  the  escape  of  those  re- 
treating from  the  battered  front  line  trench,  it 
stopped  reinforcements  from  coming  up.  Still 
farther  back,  a  mule  train  bringing  up  supplies, 
was  caught  in  open  ground  in  the  curtain  of  fire. 
The  Turks,  caught  between  two  fires,  could  not 
escape.  In  a  short  time  all  that  was  left  of  the 
scientifically  constructed  intrenchments  was  a 
conglomerate  heap  of  sand  bags,  equipments,  and 
machine  guns ;  and  on  top  of  it  all  lay  the  man- 
gled bodies  of  men  and  mules. 

All  through  the  bombardment,  we  had  hoped 
for  the  order  to  go  over  the  parapet.  When  we 
had  been  rushed  to  the  firing  line  the  night  be- 
fore, we  thought  it  was  to  take  part  in  the  at- 

144 


NO  MAN'S  LAND 

tack.  Instead  of  this,  we  were  held  in  the  firing 
line.  For  the  Worcesters  on  our  left  was  re- 
served the  distinction  of  making  the  charge. 
High  explosives  cleared  the  way  for  their  ad- 
vance, and  cheering  and  yelling  they  went  over 
parapet.  The  Turks  in  the  front  line  trenches, 
completely  demoralized,  fled  to  the  rear.  A  few, 
too  weak  or  too  sorely  wounded  to  run,  surren- 
dered. While  the  bombardment  was  going  on, 
our  men  stood  in  their  trenches,  craning  their 
necks  over  the  parapet.  All  through  the  after- 
noon, the  excitement  was  intense.  Men  jumped 
up  and  down,  running  wildly  from  one  point  in 
the  trench  to  another  to  get  a  better  view.  Some 
fired  their  rifies  in  the  general  direction  of  the 
enemy ;  "  just  a  few  joy  guns,"  they  said.  Every- 
body was  laughing  and  shouting  delightedly. 
Down  in  the  bay,  the  gray  ships  looked  almost 
as  small  as  launches  in  the  mist  formed  by  the 
smoke  of  the  guns.  The  Newfoundlanders 
might  have  been  a  crowd  rooting  at  a  baseball 
game.  Every  few  minutes,  when  the  smoke  in 
the  bay  cleared  sufficiently  to  reveal  to  us  a 
glimpse  of  the  ships,  the  .,i.'enches  resounded  to 
the  shouts  of,  "  Come  on,  the  navy,"  and  "  Good 
old  Britain."    And  when  the  great  masses  of 

145 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

iron  hurtled  through  the  air  and  tore  up  sections 
of  the  enemy's  parapet,  we  shouted  delightedly, 
*'  Iron  rations  for  Johnny  Turk !  " 

Prisoners  taken  in  this  engagement  told  us 
that  the  Turkish  rank  and  file  heartily  hated 
their  German  officers.  From  the  first,  they  had 
not  taken  kindly  to  underground  warfare.  The 
Turks  were  accustomed  to  guerilla  fighting,  and 
had  to  be  driven  into  the  trenches  by  the  German 
officers  at  the  point  of  their  revolvers.  One 
prisoner  said  that  he  had  been  au  officer;  but 
since  the  beginning  of  the  campaign,  he  had  been 
replaced  by  a  German.  At  that  time,  he  told  us, 
the  Turks  were  officered  entirely  by  Germans. 
For  two  or  three  days  after  that,  at  short  inter- 
vals, one  or  two  at  a  time,  Turks  dribbled  in  to 
surrender.  They  were  tired  of  fighting,  they 
said,  and  were  almost  starved  to  death.  Many 
more  would  surrender,  they  told  us,  but  they 
were  kept  back  by  fear  of  being  shot  by  their 
German  officers. 

With  the  monotony  varied  occasionally  by 
some  local  engagement  like  this,  we  dragged 
through  the  hot,  fly-pestered  days,  and  cold, 
drafty,  vermin-infested  nights  of  September  and 
early  October.     By  the  middle  of  October,  dis- 

146 


NO  MAN'S  LAND 

ease  and  scarcity  of  water  had  depleted  our 
ranks  alarmingly.  Instead  of  having  four  days 
on  the  firing  line  and  eight  days'  rest,  we  were 
holding  the  firing  line  eight  days  and  resting 
only  four.  In  my  platoon,  of  the  six  noncom- 
missioned officers  who  had  started  with  us,  only 
two  corporals  were  left,  one  other  and  I.  For 
a  week  after  the  doctor  had  ordered  him  to  leave 
the  Peninsula,  the  other  corporal  hung  on, 
pluckily  determined  not  to  leave  me  alone.  All 
this  time,  the  work  of  the  platoon  w^as  divided 
between  us;  he  stayed  up  half  the  night,  and  I 
the  other  half.  At  last,  he  had  to  be  personally 
conducted  to  the  clearing  station. 

Just  about  the  middle  of  October  comes  a 
Mohammedan  feast  that  lasts  for  three  or  four 
days.  During  the  days  of  the  feast,  while  our 
battalion  was  in  the  firing  line,  some  prisoners 
who  surrendered  told  us  that  the  Turks  were 
suffering  severely  from  lack  of  food  and  warm 
clothing.  All  sorts  of  rumors  ran  through  the 
trench.  One  was  that  some  one  had  reliable  in- 
formation that  the  supreme  commander  of  the 
Turkish  forces  had  sent  to  Berlin  for  men  to 
reinforce  his  army.  If  the  reinforcements  did 
not  come  in  four  days,  he  would  surrender  his 

147 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

entire  command.  Men  ordered  off  the  Peninsula 
by  the  medical  officer,  instead  of  proceeding  to 
the  clearing  station,  sneaked  back  to  their  posi- 
tions in  the  trench,  waiting  to  see  the  surrender. 
But  the  surrender  never  came.  Things  went  on 
in  the  same  old  dreary,  changeless  round.  More 
than  sickness,  or  bullets,  the  sordid  monotony 
had  begun  to  tell  on  the  men.  Every  day,  of- 
ficers were  besieged  with  requests  for  permission 
to  go  out  between  the  lines  to  locate  snipers. 
When  men  were  wanted  for  night  patrol,  for 
covering  parties,  or  for  listening  post  details, 
every  one  volunteered.  Ration  parties  to  the 
beach,  which  had  formerly  been  a  dread,  were 
now  an  eagerly  sought  variation,  although  it 
was  a  certainty  that  from  every  such  party  we 
should  lose  ten  per  cent,  of  the  personnel.  Any 
change,  of  any  sort,  was  welcome.  The  thought 
of  being  killed  had  lost  its  fear.  Daily  inter- 
course with  death  had  robbed  it  of  its  horror. 
Here  was  one  case  where  familiarity  had  bred 
contempt.  Most  of  the  men  had  sunk  into 
apathy,  simply  waiting  for  the  day  their  turn 
was  to  come,  wondering  how  soon  would  come 
the  bullet  that  had  on  it  their  "  name  and  num- 
ber.'^   Most  of  the  men  in  talking  to  each  other, 

148 


NO  MAN'S  LAND 

especially  to  their  sick  comrades,  spoke  hopefully 
of  the  outcome ;  but  those  I  talked  with  alone  all 
had  the  same  thought:  only  by  a  miracle  could 
they  escape  alive ;  that  miracle  was  a  "  cushy 
one." 

One  wave  of  hope  swept  over  the  Peninsula  in 
that  dreary  time.  The  brigade  bulletin  board 
contained  the  news  that  it  was  expected  that  in 
a  day  or  two  at  the  most  Bulgaria  would  come 
into  the  war  on  the  side  of  the  Allies.  To  us 
this  was  of  tremendous  importance.  With  a 
frontier  bordering  on  Turkey,  Bulgaria  might 
turn  the  scale  in  our  favor.  Life  became  again 
full  of  possibilities  and  interest.  Our  inter- 
preters printed  up  an  elaborate  menu  in  Turkish 
that  recited  the  various  good  things  that  might 
be  found  in  our  trenches  by  Turks  who  would 
surrender.  At  the  foot  of  the  menus  was  a  little 
note  suggesting  that  now  was  the  ideal  time  to 
come  in,  and  that  the  ideal  way  to  celebrate  the 
feast  was  to  become  our  guests.  These  menus 
we  attached  to  little  stakes  and  just  in  front  of 
the  Turkish  barbed  wire  w^e  stuck  them  in  the 
ground.  Several  Turks  came  in  within  the  next 
few  days,  but  whether  as  a  result  of  this  or  not, 
it  was  impossible  to  say.     The  feeling  of  re- 

149 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

newed  Lope  and  buoyancy  caused  by  the  news 
of  the  imminence  of  Bulgaria's  alliance  with  us 
w^as  of  short  duration.  A  day  or  so  afterwards 
came  the  alarming  news  that  the  Allied  min- 
isters had  left  Bulgaria;  and  the  following  day 
came  word  that  Bulgaria  had  joined  in  the  war, 
not  with  us,  but  with  the  Central  Powers. 
Again  apathy  settled  on  the  men.  Now,  too,  the 
rainy  season  had  set  in  in  earnest.  Torrents 
of  rain  poured  down  daily  on  the  trenches,  chok- 
ing the  drains,  and  filling  the  passageway  with 
thick  gray  mud  in  which  one  slipped  and  floun- 
dered helplessly,  and  which  coated  uniforms  and 
equipments  like  cement.  One  relief  it  did  bring 
with  it.  Men  who  had  not  had  a  bath,  or  a 
shave  in  months,  were  able  to  collect  in  their 
rubber  sheets  enough  rain  water  to  wash  and 
shave  with.  But  the  drinking  water  was  still 
scarce.  On  other  parts  of  the  Peninsula  there 
was  plenty  of  it;  but  we  had  so  few  men  avail- 
able for  duty  that  we  could  scarcely  spare 
enough  men  to  go  for  it.  Also,  there  w^as  the 
difficulty  in  securing  proper  receptacles  for  its 
conveyance.  Most  of  the  men  were  very  much 
exhausted,  and  the  trip  of  four  or  five  miles  for 
water   would   have   been   too    much    for   them. 

150 


NO  MAN'S  LAND 

Even  when  we  did  get  water,  it  had  to  be  boiled 
to  kill  the  germs  of  disease,  and  to  prevent  men 
from  being  poisoned.  The  boiled  water  was  flat 
and  tasteless;  and  to  counteract  this,  we  were 
given  a  spoonful  of  lime  juice  about  once  a  week. 
This  we  put  in  our  water  bottles.  About  every 
third  day  we  were  issued  some  rum.  Twice  a 
week,  an  officer  appeared  in  the  trench  carrying 
a  large  stone  jar  bearing  the  magic  letters  in 
black  paint,  P.  D.  R.,  Pure  Demerara  Rum. 
This  he  doled  out  as  if  every  drop  had  cost  a 
million  dollars.  Each  man  received  just  enough 
to  cover  the  bottom  of  his  canteen,  not  more  than 
an  eighth  of  a  tumbler.  Just  before  going  out 
on  any  sort  of  night  fatigue  on  the  wet  ground, 
it  was  particularly  grateful.  We  had  long  ago 
given  up  reckoning  time  by  the  calendar,  and 
days  either  were  or  were  not  "  Rum  days."  Men 
who  were  wounded  on  these  days  bequeathed 
their  share  to  their  particular  pals  or  to  their 
dugout  mates.  Some  of  the  men  were  total  ab- 
stainers with  the  courage  of  their  convictions; 
they  steadfastly  refused  to  touch  it.  The  other 
men  canvassed  these  on  rum  days  for  their  share 
of  the  fiery  liquid,  and  in  exchange  did  the 
temperance  men's  share  of  fatigue  duty.     Dur- 

151 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

ing  this  time,  there  was  very  little  fighting. 
Both  sides  were  intrenched  and  prepared  to  stay 
there  for  the  winter.  In  the  particular  section 
of  trench  we  held,  we  knew  that  any  attempt  at 
an  advance  would  be  hopeless  and  suicidal. 
The  ground  in  front  was  too  well  commanded  by 
enemy  machine  guns.  Still,  we  thought  that 
some  other  parts  of  the  line  might  advance  and 
turn  one  of  the  flanks  of  the  enemy.  Nothing 
was  impossible  to  the  Dublins  or  the  Munsters; 
and  there  was  always  faith  in  the  invincible 
Australasians.  We  could  not  forget  the  way  the 
Australasians  a  short  time  before  had  celebrated 
the  news  of  the  British  advance  at  Loos. 

Just  after  the  Turkish  feast,  we  went  into  dug- 
outs again  for  a  few  days,  and  back  once  more 
to  the  firing  line.  This  time,  we  were  up  in  the 
farm  house  district  near  Chocolate  Hill.  It  was 
a  place  particularly  exposed  to  shell  fire ;  for  the 
old  skeletons  of  farm  houses  made  good  targets 
for  the  enemy's  guns.  Every  afternoon,  the 
Turks  sent  over  about  a  dozen  or  so  shells,  just 
to  show  us  that  they  knew  we  were  there.  After 
Bulgaria  came  in  against  us,  it  seemed  to  us  that 
the  Turks  grew  much  more  prodigal  of  their 
shells  than  formerly.     Where  before  they  sent 

152 


NO  MAN'S  LAND 

over  ten,  they  now  fired  twenty.  It  was  rather 
grimly  ironic  to  find,  on  examination  of  some  of 
the  shell  casings,  that  they  were  shells  made  by 
Great  Britain  and  supplied  to  the  Turks  in  the 
Balkan  War.  There  was  a  certain  amount  of 
sardonic  satisfaction  in  knowing  that  the  fortifi- 
cations on  Achi  Baba  were  placed  there  by 
British  engineers  when  we  looked  on  the  Turks 
as  friends.  No.  8  platoon  was  intrenched  just 
in  front  of  a  field  in  which  grew  a  number  of 
apple  trees.  In  the  daytime  we  could  not  get 
to  these,  but  at  night  some  of  the  more  venture- 
some spirits  crawled  out  and  returned  with  their 
haversacks  full.  A  little  further  along  was  what 
had  once  been  a  garden.  Even  now  there  were 
still  growing  some  tomatoes  and  some  water- 
melons. The  rest  of  it  was  a  mass  of  battered 
stones  that  had  once  been  fences.  Here  it  was 
that  the  old  gray  bearded  farmers  who  had  been 
peacefully  working  in  their  fields  had  hung  up 
their  scythes  and  taken  down  from  their  hook 
on  the  wall  old  rusty  muskets  and  fought  in  their 
dooryards  to  defend  their  homes.  The  oncoming 
troops  had  swept  past  them,  but  at  a  tremendous 
cost.  For  a  whole  day  the  battle  had  swayed 
back  and  forth.     Where  formerlv  had  bloomed  a 

153 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

luxuriant  garden  or  orchard,  was  now  a  plowed 
field, —  plowed  not  with  farm  implements  but 
with  shrapnel  and  high  explosive  shells.  Dot- 
ting it  here  and  there,  were  the  little  rough 
wooden  crosses  that  gave  the  simple  details  of 
a  man's  regimental  name,  number,  and  date  of 
death.  Not  a  few  of  them  were  in  memory  of 
"  Unknown  Comrades."  And  once  in  a  while  one 
saw  a  cross  that  marked  the  resting  place  of  the 
foe.  Feeling  toward  the  enemy  differed  with  in- 
dividuals; but  we  were  all  agreed  that  Johnny 
Turk  was  a  good,  clean,  sporty  fighter,  who  gen- 
erally gave  as  good  as  we  could  send.  There- 
fore, whenever  we  could  we  gave  him  decent 
burial,  we  stuck  a  cross  up  over  htm,  although 
he  did  not  believe  in  what  it  symbolized,  and  we 
took  off  his  identification  disk  and  personal 
papers.  These  we  handed  to  our  interpreters, 
w^ho  sent  them  to  the  neutral  consuls  at  Con- 
stantinople ;  and  they  communicated  through  the 
proper  channels  with  the  deceased's  various 
widows. 

After  a  week  or  so  in  this  district,  we  moved 
back  again  to  our  old  quarters  at  Anafarta  vil- 
lage. Here  we  took  over  a  block  house  occupied 
by  the  Essex.     The  Dublins  and  the  Munsters 

154 


NO  MAN'S  LAND 

were  on  our  right.  The  block  house  was  an  ad- 
vanced post  that  we  held  in  the  morning  and 
during  the  night.  Every  afternoon  we  left  it  for 
a  few  hours  while  the  enemy  wasted  shells  on  it. 
A  couple  of  Irish  snipers  were  with  us.  The 
first  day  they  were  there,  our  Lieutenant,  Mr. 
Nunns,  spent  the  day  with  them;  that  day,  he 
accounted  for  four  Turks.  This  was  the  closest 
we  had  yet  been  to  them.  I  stood  up  beside  an 
Irish  sniper  and  looked  through  a  pair  of  field 
glasses  to  where  he  pointed  out  some  snipers' 
dugouts.  They  were  the  same  dugouts  that 
Cooke,  the  Irish  V,  C.  man,  had  shown  me. 
While  I  was  watching,  I  saw  an  old  Turk  sneak- 
ing out  between  his  trench  and  one  of  the  dug- 
outs. He  looked  old  and  stooped  and  had  a 
long  whisker  that  reached  almost  to  his  waist 
and  appeared  to  have  difficulty  in  getting  along. 
All  about  him  were  little  canvas  pockets  that 
contained  bombs  and  about  his  neck  was  a  long 
string  of  small  bombs.  "  Begob,"  said  one  of  the 
Dublins,  beside  me,  "  't  is  the  daddy  of  them  all. 
Get  him,  my  son."  I  grasped  my  gun  excitedly 
and  aimed;  but  before  I  had  taken  the  pressure 
of  the  trigger,  I  heard  from  a  little  distance  to 
the  right  the  staccato  of  a  machine  gun.     The 

155 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

result  was  astonishing.  One  second,  I  was  look- 
ing through  my  sights  at  the  Turk;  the  next,  he 
had  disappeared,  and  in  his  place  was  the  most 
marvelous  combination  of  all  colors  of  flames  I 
have  ever  seen.  Literally  Johnny  Turk  had  gone 
up  in  smoke.  The  Irishman  beside  me  was 
standing  open  mouthed. 

"  Glory  be  to  God,"  he  said,  "  what  does  that 
make  you  think  of?  " 

"  It  reminds  me,"  I  said,  "  of  a  Fourth  of  July 
celebration  in  the  States;  and  I  wish,"  I  added 
heartily,  "  I  was  there  now." 

"  It  makes  me  think,  my  son,"  said  the  Irish- 
man, "  of  the  way  ould  Cooke  killed  a  lot  of  the 
sausage-makers  over  on  the  other  side.  He 
threw  a  bomb  in  among  tin  of  'em  and  then  fired 
his  rifle  at  it  and  exploded  it.  Killed  every 
damn  one  of  'em,  he  did.  'T  was  the  same  time 
he  got  the  V.  C." 

"  I  suppose,"  I  said,  "  Cooke 's  in  London  now 
getting  his  medal  from  the  King.  He 's  through 
with  this  Peninsula." 

"  Thrue  for  you,  my  son,"  said  the  Irishman, 
"  he 's  through  with  this  Peninsula,  but  he 's  not 
in  London.  'T  was  just  three  nights  ago  that  I 
went  out  yonder,  and  tin  yards  in  front  of  that 

156 


I  Underwood  &  Underwood,  N.  Y. 

Australians  in  the  trenches  consider  clothes  a  superfluity 


NO  MAN'S  LAND 

dugout  I  found  ould  Cooke's  body.  The  Turrk 
got  him  right  through  the  cap  badge  and  blew 
the  top  clean  off  his  head.  'T  is  just  luck.  Some 
has  it  one  way,  and  some  has  it  another;  but 
whichever  way  you  have  it,  it  don't  do  you  no 
good  to  worry  over  it." 

Having  delivered  himself  of  this  satisfying 
philosophy,  he  resumed  his  survey  of  the  ground 
in  front. 

About  ten  yards  outside  the  block  house  we 
were  holding,  the  Turks  had,  under  cover  of 
darkness,  almost  completed  a  sap,  with  the  ob- 
ject of  surrounding  the  block  house.  A  detach- 
ment of  the  Dublins  with  three  or  four  bomb 
throwers  sapped  out  to  the  left  of  the  sap  the 
enemy  was  digging,  after  a  short  but  exciting 
engagement,  bombed  them  out  of  it,  and  took  the 
sap  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet.  They  found  it 
occupied  by  only  two  Turks,  who  surrendered. 
The  rest  were  able  to  get  back  to  their  own 
trench.  We  cut  the  corner  off  this  sap,  rounded 
it  off  to  surround  our  block  house,  and  occupied 
it.  It  brought  us  to  within  fifty  yards  of  the 
enemy  firing  line.  We  could  hear  them  talking 
at  night ;  and  in  the  daytime  we  could  see  them 
walking  about  their  trenches.     At   this  point, 

159 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

they  had  in  their  lines  a  number  of  animals, 
chiefly  dogs.  In  addition,  they  had  a  brass  band 
that  played  timeless,  wailing  music  nearly  every 
night,  to  the  accompaniment  of  the  howling  and 
barking  of  dogs.  Some  of  the  men  claimed  that 
the  dogs  were  trained  animals  who  carried  food 
to  snipers  and  who  were  taught  to  find  the  Turk- 
ish wounded.  This  may  have  been  true;  but  I 
have  always  believed  that  their  chief  use  was  to 
cover  the  noise  of  secret  operations.  This  seems 
likely,  for  they  were  able  to  get  their  sap  almost 
finished  without  our  hearing  them. 

The  block  house  we  held  stood  just  in  the 
center  of  the  line  that  the  Fifth  Norfolks  had 
charged  into  early  in  August,  and  from  which 
not  one  man  had  emerged.  The  second  or  third 
day  we  occupied  it,  a  detachment  of  engineers 
was  sent  in  to  make  loopholes  and  prepare  it  for 
a  stubborn  defense.  In  the  wall  on  the  left  they 
made  a  large  loophole.  The  sentry  posted  there 
the  first  morning  saw  about  twenty  feet  away 
the  body  of  a  British  soldier,  partly  buried. 
Two  volunteers  to  bury  the  body  were  asked  for. 
Half  a  dozen  offered,  although  it  was  broad  day- 
light and  the  place  the  body  lay  in  offered  no 
protection. 

160 


NO  MAN'S  LAND 

Before  any  one  could  be  selected,  Art  Pratt 
and  young  Hayes  made  the  decision  by  jumping 
up,  taking  their  picks  and  shovels,  and  vaulting 
over  the  wall  of  the  block  house.  They  walked 
out  to  where  the  body  lay.  It  had  been  torn  in 
pieces  by  a  shell  the  previous  afternoon.  At 
first  a  few  bullets  tore  up  little  spurts  of  ground 
near  the  two  men,  but  as  soon  as  they 
reached  the  body,  this  stopped.  The  Turks 
never  fired  on  burial  parties;  and  men  on  the 
Peninsula,  wounded  by  snipers,  tell  strange 
stories  of  dark-skinned  visitors  who  crept  up  to 
them  after  dark,  bound  up  their  wounds,  gave 
them  water,  and  helped  them  to  within  shouting 
distance  of  their  own  lines,  where  at  daylight 
the  next  morning  their  comrades  found  them. 
Once  one  of  our  batteries  was  very  near  a  dress- 
ing station  when  a  stray  shell,  fired  at  the  bat- 
tery, hit  the  dressing  station.  The  Turkish  ob- 
server heliographed  over  and  ai)ologized.  That 
is  why  we  respected  the  Turk.  When  we  tried 
to  shoot  him,  he  chuckled  to  himself  and  sniped 
us  from  trees  and  dugouts ;  and  when  we  reviled 
him  and  threw  tins  of  apricot  jam  at  him,  he 
gave  thanks  to  Allah,  and  ate  the  jam.  The 
empty  tins  he  filled  with  powder  ,and  returned 

161 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

to  us  in  the  shape  of  bombs.  Only  once  did  he 
really  lose  his  temper.  That  was  when  under 
his  very  eyes  we  deliberately  undressed  on  his 
beach  and  disported  ourselves  in  the  ^gean  Sea. 
Then  he  sent  over  shells  that  shrieked  at  us  to 
get  out  of  his  ocean.  But  in  his  angriest  mo- 
ments he  respected  the  Red  Cross  and  never  ill 
treated  our  wounded.  One  chap,  an  English- 
man, w^as  wounded  in  the  head  just  as  he  reached 
the  Turkish  trench  during  a  charge.  The  bullet 
went  in  the  side  of  his  head,  ruining  both  his 
eyes.  He  was  captured  as  he  toppled  over  into 
the  trench,  was  taken  to  Constantinople,  well 
treated  in  hospital  there,  and  returned  in  the 
first  batch  of  exchanged  prisoners.  When  I  met 
him  in  Egypt,  he  had  nothing  but  kind  words 
for  the  Turks.  When  the  enemy  saw  the  object 
of  the  little  expedition,  they  allowed  Art  and 
Hayes  to  proceed  unmolested.  We  watched 
them  dig  a  grave  beside  the  corpse;  and  when 
they  had  finished,  with  a  shovel  they  turned  the 
body  into  it.  Before  doing  it,  they  searched  the 
man  for  personal  papers  and  took  off  his  identifi- 
cation disk.  These  bore  the  name,  "  Sergeant 
Colder,  Fifth  Norfolk  Regiment."  That  was  in 
the  last  part  of  October ;  and  since  August  10th 

162 


NO  MAN'S  LAND 

not  a  word  had  been  heard  of  the  missing  Nor- 
folk regiment.  To  this  day,  the  whole  affair  re- 
mains a  mystery.  The  regiment  disappeared  as 
if  the  ground  had  swallowed  them  up.  On  the 
King's  Sandringham  estate,  families  are  still 
hoping  against  hope  that  there  may  sometime 
come  word  that  the  men  are  prisoners  in  Turkey. 
Neutral  consuls  in  Constantinople  have  been  ap- 
pealed to,  and  have  taken  the  matter  up  with  the 
Turkish  Government.  The  most  searching  in- 
quiries have  elicited  nothing  new.  The  answer 
has  always  been  the  same.  The  Turkish  au- 
thorities know  no  more  about  it  than  the  Eng- 
lish. Two  hundred  and  fifty  men  were  given  the 
order  to  charge  into  a  wood.  The  only  sign  that 
they  ever  did  so,  is  the  little  wooden  cross  that 
reads 

IN   MEMORY   OF 

Sergeant  J.  Golder 

FIFTH   NORFOLK   REGIMENT 
KILLED  IN  ACTION 


163 


CHAPTER  VII 

WOUNDED 

THE  gorgeous  tropical  sunset  had  given  place 
to  the  inky  darkness  of  a  Turkish  night, 
when  we  moved  into  trenches  well  up  on  the  side 
of  a  hill  that  overlooked  Anafarta  Plain.  Here 
an  advance  had  been  unsuccessful,  and  the  Turks 
had  counter  attacked.  Half  way,  the  British 
had  dug  in  hastily,  in  hard  limestone  that  re- 
sisted the  pick.  No.  8  platoon  held  six  traverses. 
Four  of  these  were  exposed  to  enfilade  fire. 
About  two  hundred  yards  away,  at  an  angle  on 
the  left  front,  a  number  of  snipers  had  built  some 
dugouts  on  Caribou  Ridge.  These  they  manned 
with  machine  guns.  From  this  elevation,  they 
could  pour  their  fire  into  our  trenches.  Several 
attempts  had  been  made  to  dislodge  them;  but 
their  machine  guns  commanded  the  intervening 
ground  and  made  an  advance  impossible.  Their 
first  line  trench  was  about  two  hundred  yards  in 
front  of  us.     Thirty  or  forty  yards  nearer  us 

164 


WOUNDED 

they  were  building  a  sap  that  ran  parallel  with 
their  lines  for  about  five  hundred  yards.  At 
that  point  it  took  a  sharp  V  turn  inward  toward 
us.  The  proximity  of  the  enemy,  and  the  con- 
tour of  the  ground  so  favorable  to  them,  made 
it  necessary  to  take  extra  precautions,  espe- 
cially at  night.  Each  night,  at  the  point  where 
the  enemy  sap  turned  toward  us,  we  sent  out  a 
listening  patrol  of  two  men  and  a  corporal.  The 
fourth  night,  my  turn  came.  That  day  it  had 
rained  without  cessation;  and  in  the  early  part 
of  the  evening  I  had  tried  to  sleep,  but  my  wet 
clothes  and  the  pouring  rain  had  made  it  impos- 
sible. I  felt  rather  glad  w^hen  I  was  told  that 
at  one-thirty  I  was  to  go  out  for  two  hours  on 
listening  patrol.  That  night  we  had  been  is- 
sued some  rum,  and  I  had  been  fortunate  enough 
to  get  a  good  portion.  I  decided  to  reserve  it 
until  I  went  out.  About  ten  o'clock  I  gave  up 
attempting  to  sleep,  and  walked  down  the  trench 
a  little  way  to  where  a  collection  of  trees  and 
brush  had  been  laid  across  the  top.  Some  one, 
with  memories  of  London's  well-known  meeting 
place,  had  christened  it  the  Marble  Arch.  I 
stood  under  this  arch,  where  the  rain  did  not 
penetrate,  and  talked  with  the  corporal  of  an 

165  -     • 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

English  regiment  who  were  holding  the  line  on 
the  other  side  of  the  Marble  Arch.  A  Sergeant 
Manson,  who  had  been  loaned  to  us  from  another 
platoon,  came  along  and  we  talked  for  a  while. 
He  had  received  some  chocolate  that  evening,  and 
the  next  morning  he  was  going  to  distribute  it 
among  the  men.  It  was  in  a  haversack  under 
his  head,  he  said,  and  he  was  going  to  sleep  on 
it  to  prevent  it  from  being  stolen.  About  eleven 
he  returned  to  his  place  on  the  firing  platform 
and  went  to  sleep.  I  was  ravenously  hungry, 
and  had  nothing  to  eat.  I  could  not  find  even  a 
biscuit.  I  did  find  some  bully  beef,  and  ate  some 
of  it,  washing  it  down  with  a  swallow  of  the  pre- 
cious rum  from  my  water  bottle.  Then  I  re- 
membered the  chocolate  under  Sergeant  Man- 
son's  head,  and  went  over  to  where  he  was  lying. 
He  was  breathing  heavily  in  the  deep  sleep  of 
exhaustion.  Quietly  I  slipped  my  hand  into  the 
haversack,  and  took  out  four  or  five  little  cubes 
of  chocolate  about  an  inch  long.  Manson 
stirred  sleepily  and  murmured,  "What  do  you 
want?  "  then  turned  over  and  again  began  breath- 
ing regularly.  It  was  now  almost  time  to  start 
for  the  listening  post.  SO'  I  went  along  the 
trench  to  where  I  knew  young  Hayes  was  sleep- 

166 


WOUNDED 

ing.  He  had  volunteered  as  one  of  the  men  to 
accompany  me,  and  from  D  Company  I  got  the 
second  man.  My  platoon  by  this  time  had  been 
reduced  to  eighteen  men,  and  I  was  the  only  non- 
com.  We  had  to  get  men  from  D  Company  to 
take  turns  on  the  parapet  at  night,  although  they 
were  supposed  to  be  resting  at  the  time.  Be- 
tween us  and  the  Turkish  sap  a  small  rise  cov- 
ered with  short  evergreen  bushes  prevented  us 
from  seeing  them.  To  get  to  this  we  had  to  cross 
about  fifty  yards  of  gTound  with  fairly  good 
cover,  and  another  fifty  yards  of  bare  ground. 
Where  the  bare  ground  began,  a  ditch  filled  with 
dank,  wet  grass  served  as  our  listening  post.  A 
large  tree  with  spreading  boughs  gave  us  some 
shelter.  From  behind  this  we  could  watch  the 
rising  ground  in  front.  Any  of  the  enemy  at- 
tempting an  advance  had  to  appear  over  this  rise. 
Our  instructions  were  to  watch  this,  and  report 
any  movement  of  the  enemy,  but  not  to  fire.  I 
left  young  Hayes  about  half  way  between  this 
tree  and  the  trench,  and  the  other  man  and  I 
spread  a  rubber  sheet  under  the  tree  and  made 
ourselves  as  comfortable  as  possible.  The  rain 
was  still  coming  down  with  a  steadiness  that 
promised  little  hope  of  stopping.    After  a  little 

167 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

while  I  became  numbed,  and  decided  to  move 
about  a  little.  When  I  came  on  the  Peninsula, 
I  had  no  overcoat,  but  a  little  time  before  had 
secured  a  very  fine  gray  woolen  great-coat  from 
a  Turk.  It  had  been  at  one  time  the  property  of 
a  German  officer,  and  was  very  warm  and  com- 
fortable, with  a  large  collar  and  deep  thick  cuffs. 
I  had  worn  it  about  the  trench  and  it  had  been 
the  subject  of  much  comment.  That  night  I 
wore  it,  and  over  it  a  raincoat.  So  that  my 
movements  might  be  less  constricted,  I  took  off 
the  raincoat,  and  left  it  with  the  D  Company 
man,  who  stayed  under  the  tree.  It  was  pitch 
dark,  and  I  got  across  the  open  space  to  the  ever- 
green-covered rise  without  being  seen.  Here  I 
dropped  on  my  stomach  and  wriggled  between 
wet  bushes  that  pricked  my  face,  up  to  the  top. 
It  was  only  about  thirty  feet,  but  it  took  me  al- 
most an  hour  to  get  up  there.  By  the  time  I  had 
reached  the  top  it  had  stopped  raining  and  stars 
had  come  out.  I  crawled  laboriously  a  short  dis- 
tance down  the  other  side  of  the  little  hill;  I 
parted  the  bushes  slowly  and  was  preparing  to 
draw  myself  a  little  further  when  I  saw  some- 
thing that  nearly  turned  me  sick  with  horror. 
Almost  under  my  face  were  the  bodies  of  two 

168 


WOUNDED 

men,  one  a  Turk,  the  other  an  Englishman. 
They  were  both  on  their  sides,  and  each  of  them 
were  transfixed  with  the  bayonet  of  the  other. 
I  don't  know  how  long  I  stayed  there.  It  seemed 
ages.  At  last  I  gathered  myself  together,  and 
withdrew  cautiously,  a  little  to  the  right.  My 
nerves  were  so  shaken  by  what  I  had  just  seen 
that  I  decided  to  return  at  once  to  the  man  under 
the  tree.  When  I  had  gone  back  about  ten  feet 
I  was  seized  with  an  overwhelming  desire  to  go 
back  and  find  out  to  what  regiment  the  dead 
Englishman  belonged.  At  the  moment  I  turned, 
my  attention  was  distracted  by  the  noise  of  men 
walking  not  very  far  to  the  front.  I  crawled 
along  cautiously  and  peered  over  the  toj)  of  the 
rise  where  I  could  see  the  enemy  sap.  The  noise 
was  made  by  a  digging  party  who  were  just 
filing  into  the  sap.  For  almost  an  hour  I  lay 
there  watching  them.  It  gave  me  a  certain  sat- 
isfaction to  aim  my  rifle  at  each  one  in  turn  and 
think  of  the  effect  of  a  mere  pressure  of  the  trig- 
ger. But  my  orders  were  not  to  fire.  I  was  on 
listening  patrol,  and  we  had  men  out  on  differ- 
ent working  parties,  who  might  be  hit  in  the  re- 
sulting return  fire.  At  intervals  I  could  hear 
behind  me  the  report  of  a  rifle,  and  wondered 

169 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

what  fool  was  shooting  from  our  lines.  When  I 
thought  it  was  time  to  go  back  I  crawled  down 
the  hill,  and  found  to  my  consternation  that  the 
moon  was  full,  and  the  space  between  the  foot  of 
the  little  rise  and  the  tree  was  stark  white  in  the 
moonlight.  I  had  just  decided  to  make  a  sharp 
dash  across  when  the  firing  that  I  had  heard  be- 
fore recommenced.  Instead  of  being  from  our 
lines  it  came  from  a  tree  a  short  distance  to  the 
left,  at  the  end  of  the  open  space.  It  was  Johnny 
Turk,  cozily  ensconced  in  a  tree  that  overlooked 
our  trench.  Whenever  he  saw  a  movement  he 
fired.  He  used  some  sort  of  smokeless  powder 
that  gave  no  flash,  and  it  was  most  fortunate 
for  me  that  I  happened  to  be  at  the  only  angle 
that  he  could  be  seen  from.  I  resumed  my  wrig- 
gling along  the  edge  of  the  open  space  to  where 
it  ended  in  thick  grass.  Through  this  I  crawled 
until  I  had  come  almost  to  the  edge  of  the  ditch 
in  which  I  had  left  the  other  man.  But  to  reach 
it  I  had  to  cross  about  ten  feet  of  perfectly  bare 
ground  that  gave  no  protection.  Had  the  Turk 
seen  me  he  could  have  hit  me  easily.  I  decided 
to  crawl  across  slowly,  making  no  noise.  I  put 
my  head  out  of  the  thick  grass  and  with  one  knee 
and  both  hands  on  the  ground  poised  as  a  run- 

170 


WOUNDED 

ner  does  at  the  start  of  a  race.  Against  the  clear 
white  gTOimd  I  must  have  loomed  large,  for  al- 
most at  once  a  bullet  whizzed  through  the  top  of 
the  little  brown  woolen  cap  I  was  wearing.  Just 
then  the  D  Company  man  caught  sight  of  me, 
and  raised  his  gun.  "  Who  goes  there? "  he 
shouted.  I  did  some  remarkably  quick  thinking 
then.  I  knew  that  the  bullet  through  my  cap 
had  not  come  from  the  sniper,  and  that  some  one 
one  of  our  men  had  seen  my  overcoat  and  mis- 
taken me  for  a  Turk.  I  knew  the  sniper  was  in 
the  tree,  and  the  D  Company's  man's  challenge 
would  draw  his  attention  to  me ;  also  I  knew  that 
the  Newfoundlander  might  shoot  first  and  es- 
tablish my  identity  afterwards.  He  was  wrong 
in  challenging  me,  as  his  instructions  were  to 
make  no  noise.  But  that  was  a  question  that  I 
had  to  postpone  settling.  I  decided  to  take  a 
chance  on  the  man  in  the  listening  post.  I 
shouted,  just  loud  enough  for  him  to  hear  me, 
"  Newfoundland,  you  damn  fool,  Newfound- 
land," then  tore  across  the  little  open  space  and 
dived  head  first  into  the  dank  grass  beside  him. 
When  I  had  recovered  my  breath,  with  a  vocabu- 
lary inspired  by  the  occasion,  I  told  him,  clearly 
and  concisely,  what  I  thought  of  him.     While  it 

171 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

may  not  have  been  complimentary  it  was  beyond 
question  candid.  When  I  had  finished,  I  sent 
him  back  to  relieve  j^oung  Hayes  with  instruc- 
tions to  send  Hayes  out  to  me.  In  a  few  min- 
utes Hayes  came. 

"  Do  you  know,  Corporal,"  he  said  as  he  came 
up  beside  me,  "  I  almost  shot  you  a  few  minutes 
ago.  I  should  have  when  the  other  fellow  chal- 
lenged you  if  you  had  n't  said  '  Newfoundland.' 
I  fired  at  you  once.  I  saw  you  go  out  one  way, 
and  when  you  came  back  I  could  just  see  your 
Turkish  overcoat.  '  Here,'  says  I  to  myself,  '  is 
Abdul  Pasha  trying  to  get  the  Corporal,  and  I  '11 
get  him.'     Instead  of  that  I  almost  got  you." 

Whether  or  not  the  noise  I  made  caused  the 
sniper  to  become  more  cautious  I  don't  know, 
but  I  heard  no  further  shots  from  him  from  then 
until  the  time  I  was  relieved. 

The  arrival  of  a  relief  patrol  prevented  my 
replying  to  young  Hayes.  I  went  back  to  my 
place  in  the  trench,  but  try  as  I  might  I  could 
not  sleep;  I  twisted  from  side  to  side,  took  off 
my  equipment  and  cartridge  pouches,  adjusted 
blankets  and  rubber  sheet,  tried  another  place  on 
the  firing  platform ;  I  threw  myself  down  flat  in 
the  bottom  of  the  trench.     Still  I  could  not  get 

172 


WOUNDED 

asleep.  At  last  I  abandoned  the  attempt,  took 
from  my  haversack  a  few  cigarettes,  lit  one,  and 
on  a  piece  of  coarse  paper  began  making  a  little 
diagram  of  the  ground  I  had  covered  that  night, 
and  of  the  position  of  the  sniper  I  had  been 
watching.  By  the  time  I  had  completed  it  day- 
light had  come,  and  with  it  the  familiar  "  Stand 
to."  After  "  Stand  to,"  I  crawled  under  a  rub- 
ber sheet  and  snatched  a  few  hours'  sleep  before 
breakfast.  Just  after  breakfast,  a  man  from  A 
Company  came  through  the  trench,  munching 
some  fancy  biscuits  and  carrying  in  his  hand  a 
can  of  sardines.  The  German  Kaiser  could  not 
have  created  a  greater  impression.  "  Where  had 
he  got  them,  and  how?"  He  explained  that  a 
canteen  had  been  opened  at  the  beach.  Here 
you  could  get  everything  that  a  real  grocery  store 
boasts,  and  could  have  it  charged  on  your  pay- 
book.  "  A  Company  men,"  he  said,  "  had  all 
given  orders  through  their  quarter-master  ser- 
geant, and  had  received  them  that  morning." 
Then  followed  a  list  of  mouth-watering  delica- 
cies, the  very  names  of  which  we  had  almost  for- 
gotten. A  deputation  instantly  waited  on  Mr. 
Nunns.  He  knew  nothing  of  the  thing,  and  was 
incensed  that  his  men  had  not  been  allowed  to 

173 


TKENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

participate  in  the  good  things.  He  deputed  me 
to  go  down  and  make  inquiries  at  A  Company's 
lines.  I  did  so,  and  found  that  the  first  man  had 
been  perfectly  correct.  A  Company  was  revel- 
ing in  sardines,  white  bread,  real  butter,  drip- 
ping from  roast  beef,  and  tins  of  salmon  and  lob- 
ster. If  we  gave  an  order  that  day,  I  was  told, 
we  should  get  it  filled  the  next.  Elated,  I  re- 
turned to  B  Company's  lines  with  the  news. 
The  dove  returning  to  the  ark  with  the  olive 
branch  could  not  have  been  more  welcome.  Mr. 
Nunns  fairly  beamed  satisfaction.  A  few  of  the 
more  pessimistic  reflected  aloud  that  they  might 
get  killed  before  the  things  arrived. 

Just  before  uine  o'clock  I  went  down  to  see  the 
cooks  about  dinner  for  my  section.  On  my  way 
back  I  passed  a  man  going  down  the  trench  on 
a  stretcher.  One  of  the  stretcher  bearers  told  me 
that  he  had  been  hit  in  the  head  while  picking  up 
rubbish  on  top  of  the  parapet.  He  hoped  to  get 
him  to  the  dressing  station  alive.  As  I  came  into 
our  own  lines  another  stretcher  passed  me.  The 
man  on  this  one  was  sitting  up,  grinning, 

"  Hello,  Gal,"  he  yelled.  "  I  've  stopped  a 
cushy  one." 

I  laughed.    "How  did  it  happen?"  I  asked. 

174 


in 
o 

B 


cr 

XT 

P 

■-1 

c 


D 


P 

P 


El 

a 
p 

cr 


P 


o 
p 


*^^ 


WOUNDED 

"  Picking  up  rubbish  on  top  of  the  parapet." 

He  disappeared  around  the  curve  of  the  trench, 
delightedly  spreading  the  news  that  he  had 
stopped  a  cushy  one  in  the  leg.  I  kept  on  back 
to  my  own  traverse,  and  showed  the  diagram  I 
had  made  the  night  before  to  Art  Pratt.  Mr. 
Nunns  had  granted  us  leave  to  go  out  that  day 
to  try  to  get  the  sniper  in  the  tree.  Art  was  de- 
lighted at  the  chance  of  some  variety.  While 
Art  and  I  were  making  out  a  list  of  things  we 
wanted  at  the  canteen,  a  man  in  my  section  came 
down  the  trench. 

"  Corporal  Gallishaw,"  he  said,  "  the  Brigade 
Major  passed  through  the  lines  a  few  minutes 
ago,  and  he 's  raising  hell  at  the  state  of  the 
lines ;  you  've  got  to  go  out  with  five  men,  picking 
up  rubbish  on  top  of  the  parapet." 

Instantly  there  came  before  my  eyes  the  vision 
of  the  strangely  limp  form  I  had  met  only  a  few 
minutes  before  that  had  been  hit  in  the  head 
"  picking  up  rubbish  on  top  of  the  joarapet." 
But  in  the  army  one  cannot  stop  to  think  of  such 
things  long;  orders  have  to  be  obeyed.  Since 
coming  into  the  trench  we  had  constructed  a 
dump,  but  the  former  occupants  of  the  trench 
had  thrown  their  refuse  on  top  of  the  parapet. 

177 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

My  job  with  the  five  men  was  to  collect  this  rub- 
bish and  put  it  in  our  dump.  At  nine  o'clock  in 
the  morning  we  mounted  the  parapet  and  began 
digging.  There  was  no  cover  for  men  standing; 
the  low  bushes  hid  men  sitting  or  lying.  Every 
few  minutes  I  gave  the  men  a  rest,  making  them 
sit  in  the  shelter  of  the  underbrush.  The  sun 
was  shining  brightly ;  and  after  the  wet  spell  we 
had  just  passed  through,  the  warmth  was  pe- 
culiarly grateful.  The  news  that  the  canteen 
had  been  opened  on  the  beach  made  most  of  the 
men  optimistic.  With  good  things  to  eat  in  sight 
life  immediately  became  more  bearable.  Never 
since  the  first  day  they  landed  had  the  men 
seemed  so  cheerful.  Up  there  where  we  were  the 
sun  was  very  welcome,  and  we  took  our  time  over 
the  job.  One  chap  had  that  morning  been  given 
fourteen  days'  field  punishment,  because  he  had 
left  his  post  for  a  few  seconds  the  night  before. 
He  wanted  to  get  a  pipe  from  his  coat  pocket, 
and  did  not  think  it  worth  while  to  ask  any  one 
to  relieve  him.  It  was  just  those  few  seconds 
that  one  of  the  brigade  officers  selected  to  visit 
our  trench.  When  he  saw  the  post  vacaut,  he 
waited  until  the  man  returned,  asked  his  name, 
then   reported   him.     Field   punishment    meant 

178 


WOUNDED 

that  in  addition  to  his  regular  duties  the  man 
would  have  to  work  in  every  digging  party  or 
fatigue  detail.  I  asked  him  why  he  had  not  sent 
for  me,  and  he  told  me  that  it  had  happened 
while  I  was  out  in  the  listening  patrol.  He  was 
not  worrying  about  the  punishment,  but  feared 
that  his  parents  might  hear  of  it  through  some 
one  writing  home.  But  after  a  little  while  even 
he  caught  the  spirit  of  cheerfulness  that  had 
spread  amongst  us  at  the  news  of  the  new  can- 
teen. To  the  average  person  meals  are  like  the 
small  white  spaces  in  a  book  that  divide  the  para- 
graphs ;  to  us  they  had  assumed  the  proportions 
of  the  paragraph  themselves.  The  man  who  had 
just  got  field  punishment  told  me  the  things  he 
had  ordered  at  the  canteen,  and  we  compared 
notes  and  made  suggestions.  The  ubiquitous 
Hayes,  working  like  a  beaver  with  his  entrench- 
ing tool,  threw  remarks  over  his  shoulder  anent 
the  man  who  had  delayed  the  information  that 
the  canteen  had  been  established,  and  offered 
some  original  and  unique  suggestions  for  that  in- 
dividual's punishment.  When  we  had  the  rub- 
bish all  scraped  up  in  a  pile,  we  took  it  on  shovels 
to  the  dump  we  had  dug.  To  do  this  we  had  to 
walk  upright.    We  had  almost  finished  when  the 

179 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

snipers  on  Caribou  Ridge  began  to  bang  at  us.  I 
jumped  to  a  small  depression,  and  yelled  to  the 
men  to  take  cover.  They  were  ahead  of  me,  tak- 
ing the  last  shovelful  of  rubbish  to  the  trench. 
At  the  warning  to  take  cover,  they  separated  and 
dived  for  the  bushes  on  either  side.  That  is, 
they  all  did  except  Hayes,  w^ho  either  did  not 
hear  me  or  did  not  know  just  where  to  go.  I 
stepped  up  out  of  the  depression  and  pointed 
with  outstretched  arm  to  a  cluster  of  under- 
brush. "  Get  in  there,  Hayes !  "  I  yelled.  Just 
then  I  felt  a  dull  thud  in  my  left  shoulder  blade, 
and  a  sharp  pain  in  the  region  of  my  heart.  At 
first  I  thought  that  in  running  for  cover  one  of 
the  men  had  thrown  a  pick-ax  that  hit  me.  Un- 
til I  felt  the  blood  trickling  down  my  back  like 
warm  water,  it  did  not  occur  to  me  that  I  had 
been  hit.  Then  came  a  drowsy,  languid  sensa- 
tion, the  most  enjoyable  and  pleasant  I  have  ever 
experienced.  It  seemed  to  me  that  my  backbone 
became  like  pulp,  and  I  closed  up  like  a  concer- 
tina. Gradually  I  felt  my  knees  giving  wa;y 
under  me,  then  my  head  dropped  over  on  my 
chest,  and  down  I  went.  In  Egypt  I  had  seen 
Mohammedans  praying  with  their  faces  toward 
Mecca,  and  as  I  collapsed  I  thought  that  I  must 

180 


WOUNDED 

look  exactly  as  they  did  when  they  bent  over  and 
touched  their  heads  to  the  ground,  worshiping 
the  Prophet.  Connecting  the  pain  in  my  chest 
with  the  blow  in  my  back,  I  decided  that  the 
bullet  had  gone  in  my  shoulder,  through  my  left 
lung,  and  out  through  my  heart,  and  I  concluded 
I  was  done  for,  I  can  distinctly  remember 
thinking  of  myself  as  some  one  else.  I  recollect 
saying,  half  regretfully,  "  Poor  old  Gal  is  out 
of  luck  this  morning,"  then  adding  philosophi- 
cally, "  Well,  he  had  a  good  time  while  he  was 
alive,  anyway."  By  now  things  had  grown  very 
dim,  and  I  felt  everything  slipping  away  from 
me.  I  was  myself  again,  but  I  said  to  that  other 
self  who  was  lying  there,  as  I  thought,  dying, 
"  Buck  up,  old  Gal,  and  die  like  a  sport."  Just 
then  I  tried  to  say,  "  I  'm  hit."  It  sounded  as  if 
somewhere  miles  away  a  faint  echo  mocked  me. 
I  must  have  succeeded  in  making  myself  heard, 
because  immediately  I  could  hear  Hayes  yell 
with  a  frenzied  oath,  "  The  Corporal 's  struck. 
Can't  you  see  the  Corporal 's  struck?  "  and  heard 
him  curse  the  Turk  who  had  fired  the  shot.  Al- 
most instantly  Hayes  was  kneeling  beside  me, 
trying  to  find  the  wound.  He  was  much  more 
excited  over  it  than  I. 

181 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

"  Don't  you  try  to  bandage  it  here,"  I  said ; 
"  yell  for  stretcher  bearers."' 

Hayes  jumped  up,  shouting  lustily,  "  Stretcher 
bearers  at  the  double,  stretcher  bearers  at  the 
double !  "  then  added  as  an  after-thought,  "  Tell 
Art  Pratt  the  Corj^oral  's  struck." 

I  was  now  quite  clear  headed  again  and  told 
Hayes  to  shout  for  "  B  Company  stretcher  bear- 
ers." On  the  Peninsula  messages  were  sent 
along  the  trench  from  man  to  man.  Sometimes 
when  a  traverse  sex)arated  two  men,  the  one  re- 
ceiving the  message  did  not  bother  to  step 
around,  but  just  shouted  the  message  over. 
Often  it  was  not  heard,  and  the  message  stopped 
right  there.  One  message  there  was  though,  that 
never  miscarried,  the  one  that  came  most  fre- 
quently, "  Stretcher  bearers  at  the  double."  Un- 
less the  bearers  from  some  particular  company 
were  specified,  all  Avho  received  the  message  re- 
sponded .  It  was  to  avoid  this  that  I  told  Hayes 
to  yell  for  B  Company  stretcher  bearers.  Ap- 
parently some  one  had  heard  Hayes  yell,  "  Tell 
Art  Pratt  the  Corporal 's  struck,"  because  in  a 
few  minutes  Art  was  bending  over  me,  talking 
to  me  gently.  Three  other  men  whom  I  could 
not  see  had  come  with  him ;  they  had  risked  their 

182 


WOUNDED 

lives  to  come  for  me  under  fire.  "  We  must  get 
liim  out  of  this,"  I  heard  Art  say.  In  that  mo- 
ment of  danger  his  thought  was  not  for  himself, 
but  for  me.  I  was  able  to  tell  them  how  to  lift 
me.  No  women  could  have  been  more  gentle  or 
tender  than  those  men,  in  carrying  me  back  to 
the  trench.  Although  bullets  were  pattering 
around,  they  walked  at  a  snaiFs  pace  lest  the  least 
hurried  movement  might  jar  me  and  add  to  my 
pain.  The  stretcher  bearers  had  arrived  by  the 
time  we  reached  the  trench,  and  were  unrolling 
bandages  and  getting  iodine  ready.  At  first 
there  was  some  diflflculty  in  getting  at  the  wound. 
It  had  bled  so  freely  that  the  entire  back  of  my 
coat  was  a  mass  of  blood.  The  men  who  had  car- 
ried me  looked  as  if  they  had  been  wounded,  so 
covered  with  blood  were  they.  The  stretcher 
bearer's  scissors  would  not  work,  and  Art  angrily 
demanded  a  sharp  knife,  which  some  one  pro- 
duced. The  stretcher  bearer  ripped  up  my  cloth- 
ing, exposing  my  shoulder,  then  began  patching 
up  my  right  shoulder.  I  cursed  him  in  fraternal 
trench  fashion  and  told  him  he  was  working  on 
the  wrong  shoulder;  I  knew  I  had  been  hit  in 
the  left  shoulder  and  tried  to  explain  that  I  had 
been  turned  over  since  I  was  hit.     The  stretcher 

'      183 


TKENCniNG  AT  GALLIPOLI 

bearer  thought  I  was  delirious  aud  continued 
working  away.  I  thought  he  was  crazy,  and  told 
him  so.  At  last  Art  interrupted  to  say,  "  Just 
look  at  the  other  shoulder  to  satisfy  him."  They 
looked,  and,  as  I  knew  they  would,  found  the 
hole  the  bullet  had  entered.  To  get  at  it  they 
turned  me  over,  and  I  saw  that  a  crowd  had 
gathered  around  to  watch  the  dressing  and  make 
remarks  about  the  amount  of  blood,  I  became 
quite  angry  at  this,  and  I  asked  them  if  they 
thought  it  was  a  nickel  show.  This  caused  them 
all  to  laugh  so  heartily  that  even  I  joined  in. 
This  was  when  I  felt  almost  certain  that  I  was 
dying.  I  can't  remember  even  feeling  relieved 
when  they  told  me  that  the  bullet  had  not  gone 
through  my  heart.  The  pain  I  felt  there  when 
I  was  first  hit  was  caused  by  the  tearing  of  the 
nerves  which  centered  in  my  heart  when  the 
bullet  tore  across  my  back  from  shoulder  to 
shoulder.  Never  as  long  as  I  live  shall  I  forget 
the  solicitude  of  my  comrades  that  morning. 
The  stretcher  bearers  found  that  the  roughly 
constructed  trench  was  too  narrow  to  allow  the 
stretcher  to  turn,  so  they  put  me  in  a  blanket 
and  started  away.  Meanwhile  the  word  had  run 
along  the  trench  that  "  Gal  had  copped  it."     I 

184 


3 
en 

a 
'a 

V 
V 

d 
o 

o 

eS 
>j 
V 

cS 


WOUNDED 

did  not  know  until  that  morning  that  I  had  so 
many  friends.  A  little  way  down  the  trench  I 
met  Sergeant  Manson.  He  was  carrying  some 
sticks  of  chocolate  for  distribution  among  the 
men.  I  asked  him  for  a  piece.  To  do  so  on  the 
Peninsula  was  like  asking  for  gold,  but  he  put 
it  in  my  mouth  with  a  smile.  Hoddinott  and 
Pike,  the  stretcher  bearers,  stopped  just  where 
the  communication  trench  began.  The  doctor 
had  come  up.  He  asked  me  where  I  was  hit,  and 
I  told  him.  He  examined  the  bandages,  and  told 
the  stretcher  bearers  to  take  me  along  to  the 
dressing  station.  Captain  Alexander,  my  com- 
pany commander,  came  along,  smiled  at  me,  and 
wished  me  good-by.  Hoddinott  asked  me  if  I 
wanted  a  cigarette,  and  when  I  said,  "  Yes," 
placed  one  in  my  mouth  and  lit  it  for  me.  I 
had  never  realized  until  then  just  how  difficult 
it  is  to  smoke  a  cigarette  without  removing  it 
from  your  mouth.  Poor  Stenlake,  w^ho  by  this 
time  was  worn  to  a  shadow,  was  in  the  support 
trench,  waiting  with  some  other  sick  men,  to  go 
to  hospital.  He  came  along  and  said  good-by. 
A  Eed  Cross  man  gave  me  a  postcard  to  be  sent 
to  some  organization  that  would  supply  me  with 
comforts  while  I  was  in  hospital.     "  You  '11  eat 

187 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

your  Christmas  dinner  in  London,  old  chap,"  he 
said. 

We  had  to  go  two  miles  before  the  stretcher 
bearers  could  exchange  the  blanket  for  the  regu- 
lar stretcher.  The  trenches  were  narrow,  and 
on  one  side  a  little  ditch  had  been  dug  to  drain 
them.  The  recent  wet  weather  had  made  the 
bottom  of  the  trench  very  slippery,  and  every 
few  minutes  one  of  the  bearers  would  slide  side- 
ways and  bring  up  in  the  ditch.  When  he  did 
the  blanket  swayed  with  him,  and  my  shoulders 
struck  against  the  jagged  limestone  on  the  sides. 
To  avoid  this  as  much  as  possible  the  bearers 
had  to  proceed  very  slowly.  Those  two  miles  to 
me  seemed  endless.  I  had  now  become  com- 
pletely paralyzed,  all  control  of  my  muscles  was 
gone,  and  I  slipped  about  in  the  blanket.  Every 
few  yards  I  would  ask  Hoddinott,  "  Is  it  very 
much  farther?"  and  every  time  he  would  turn 
around  and  grin  cheerfully,  and  answer,  as  one 
would  answer  a  little  child,  "  Not  very  much 
farther  now.  Gal." 

At  last  we  emerged  into  a  large  wdde  communi- 
cation trench,  with  the  landmarks  of  which  I  was 
familiar.  I  was  suffering  severely  now,  and  was 
beginning   to   worry   over   trifles.     Suddenly   it 

188 


WOUNDED 

came  to  me  that  I  was  still  a  couple  of  miles  from 
the  dressing  station,  and  when  we  came  out  of 
the  communication  trench  on  to  open  ground 
that  had  been  torn  up  by  shrapnel,  I  was  con- 
sumed with  fear  that  at  any  moment  I  might  be 
hit  by  another  shell,  and  might  not  get  aboard 
the  hospital  after  all,  for  by  this  time  my  mind 
had  centered  on  getting  into  a  clean  bed.  A 
dozen  different  thoughts  chased  through  my 
mind.  I  was  grieved  to  think  that  in  order  to 
get  at  the  wound  it  had  been  necessary  to  cut  the 
fine  great -coat  that  I  had  so  much  wanted  to  take 
home  as  a  souvenir.  I  asked  Hoddinott  what 
they  had  done  with  it,  and  he  told  me  that  part 
of  it  was  under  my  head  as  a  pillow,  but  that  it 
was  so  besmeared  with  blood  that  it  would  be 
thrown  away  as  soon  as  I  arrived  at  the  dressing 
station.  From  thinking  of  the  great-coat,  I  re- 
membered that  before  I  went  out  with  the  dig- 
ging party  I  had  taken  off  my  raincoat  and  left 
it  near  my  haversack  in  the  trench,  and  in  the 
pocket  of  it  was  the  little  diagram  I  had  drawn 
of  the  position  of  the  sniper  I  had  seen  the  night 
before.  Again  I  called  for  Hoddinott,  and  again 
he  came,  and  answered  me  patiently  and  gently. 
"Yes,  he  would  tell  Art  about  the  little  dia- 

189 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

gram."  Where  a  fringe  of  low  bushes  bordered 
the  pathway  at  the  end  of  the  open  space,  Hod- 
diuott  and  Pike  turned.  For  the  distance  of 
about  a  city  block  they  carried  the  stretcher 
along  a  road  cut  through  thick  jungle.  At  the 
end  of  it  stood  a  little  post  from  which  drooped 
a  white  flag  with  a  red  cross.  It  was  the  end  of 
the  first  stage  for  the  stretcher  bearers.  A  great 
wave  of  loneliness  swept  over  me  when  I  realized 
that  I  was  to  see  the  last  of  the  men  with  whom  I 
had  gone  through  so  much.  I  was  almost  crying 
at  the  thought  of  leaving  them  there.  Somehow 
or  other  it  did  not  seem  right  for  me  to  go. 
I  felt  that  in  some  way  I  was  taking  an  unfair 
advantage  of  them.  Hoddinott  and  Pike  slipped 
the  straps  from  their  shoulders  and  lowered  the 
stretcher  gently.  Under  the  blanket  Hoddinott 
sought  my  hand."  "  Good-by,  Gal,"  he  said. 
"  Is  there  any  message  I  can  take  back  to  Art?  " 
"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  tell  him  to  keep  my  raincoat." 
Since  the  moment  I  had  been  hit,  I  had  been 
afraid  of  one  thing — that  I  should  break  down, 
and  not  take  my  punishment  like  a  man.  I  was 
tensely  determined  that  no  matter  how  much  I 
suffered  I  would  not  whine  or  cry.  In  our  regi- 
ment it  had  become  a  tradition  that  a  man  must 

190 


WOUNDED 

smile  when  he  was  wounded.  One  thing  more 
than  anything  else  kept  me  firm  in  my  determina- 
tion. Art  Pratt  had  walked  just  behind  the 
blanket  until  we  came  to  the  communication 
trench.  Even  then  he  was  loath  to  leave  me. 
He  could  not  trust  himself  to  speak  when  I  said, 
"  Good-by,  Art,  old  pal."  He  grasped  my  hand, 
and  holding  it  walked  along  a  few  feet.  Then 
he  dropped  my  hand  gently.  There  are  some 
things  in  life  that  stand  out  ineffably  sweet  and 
satisfying.  For  me  such  a  one  was  that  last  mo- 
ment of  farewell  to  Art.  I  had  always  consid- 
ered him  the  most  fearless  man  in  a  regiment 
whose  name  was  a  byword  for  reckless  courage. 
Of  all  men  on  the  Peninsula  I  valued  his  opinion 
most.  No  recommendation  for  promotion,  no 
award  for  valor,  not  even  the  coveted  V.  C,  could 
have  been  half  so  sweet  as  the  few  words  I  heard 
Art  say.  With  eyes  shining,  he  turned  to  the 
man  beside  him  and  said,  almost  savagely,  "  By 
God,  he  's  a  brick." 


191 


CHAPTER  VIII 

HOMEWARD  BOUND 

AS  soon  as  Hoddinott  and  Pike  had  left  me, 
two  other  stretcher  bearers  carried  me 
about  two  hundred  yards  farther  to  a  rough 
shelter  made  of  poles  laid  across  supports  com- 
posed of  sandbags.  This  was  the  dressing  sta- 
tion. On  top  of  the  poles,  sandbags  made  it  im- 
pervious to  overhead  shelling.  On  three  sides 
it  was  closed  in,  but  the  side  nearest  the  beach 
was  open.  From  where  my  stretcher  was  placed 
I  could  just  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  JEgean  Sea 
and  of  the  ships.  Men  on  stretchers  were  lined 
up  in  rows  on  the  ground.  Here  and  there  a  man 
groaned,  but  most  of  the  men  were  gazing  at  the 
roof,  with  set  faces.  Some  who  were  only  slightly 
wounded  were  sitting  up  on  stretchers  while  Red 
Cross  men  bandaged  up  their  legs  or  feet.  A 
doctor  was  working  away  methodically  and  rap- 
idly. A  little  to  the  right  another  shelter  housed 
the  men  who  were  being  sent  to  hospital  with 

192 


HOMEWAED  BOUND 

dysentery,  enteric,  or  typhoid.  As  soon  as  I 
was  brought  in,  the  doctor  came  to  me.  "  I  '11  do 
this  one  right  away,"  he  said  to  one  of  his  as- 
sistants. The  assistant  stripped  the  blanket 
from  me  and  cut  off  the  portions  of  the  blood- 
stained shirt  still  remaining.  As  he  did  so,  some- 
thing dropped  on  the  ground.  The  Red  Cross 
man  picked  it  up. 

"Here's  the  bullet  that  hit  you,"  he  said, 
putting  it  beside  me  on  the  stretcher.  "  It 
dropped  out  of  your  shirt.  It  just  got  through 
you  and  stuck  in  your  shirtsleeve." 

"  You  'd  better  get  him  a  little  bag  to  keep  his 
things  in,"  said  the  doctor. 

The  Eed  Cross  man  produced  a  bag,  took  my 
pay  book,  and  everything  he  found  in  my  pocket, 
and  put  them  in  it,  then  tied  them  to  the 
stretcher.  By  this  time  I  was  ready  for  the  doc- 
tor to  begin  work.  That  doctor  knew  his  busi- 
ness. In  a  very  few  minutes  he  had  probed  and 
cut  and  cleaned  the  wound,  and  adjusted  a  new 
bandage.  The  bleeding  had  stopped  by  this 
time.  He  asked  me  the  circumstances  of  being 
hit.  He  told  me  to  grip  his  hand  and  squeeze. 
I  tried  it  with  my  right  hand  but  could  do  noth- 
ing; then  I  tried  the  left  hand  and  succeeded  a 

193 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

little  better.  The  doctor  looked  grave  when  I 
failed  to  grip  with  my  right  hand,  but  brightened 
a  little  when  I  gripped  with  my  left.  All  the 
time  he  talked  to  me  genially.  That  did  me 
nearly  as  much  good  as  the  surgical  attention  he 
gave  me.  He  was  a  Canadian,  he  told  me.  At  the 
outbreak  of  the  war  he  had  been  taking  post- 
graduate courses  at  Cambridge  University  in 
England.  The  University  sent  several  hospital 
units  to  the  front,  and  he  had  come  with  this  one. 
He  knew  Canada  and  the  States  pretty  thor- 
oughly. 

"  Where  do  you  come  from?  "  he  asked  me. 

"  Newfoundland,"  I  told  him.  "  But  I  live  in 
the  United  States." 

"What  part?"  he  asked. 

"  Cambridge,  Massachusetts,"  I  told  him. 

"Oh,"  he  said,  "that's  where  Harvard  Uni- 
versity is." 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  I  was  a  student  there  when  I 
enlisted." 

The  doctor  called  to  a  couple  of  the  Red  Cross 
men.  "Here's  a  chap  from  Harvard  Univer- 
sity in  Cambridge,  over  in  the  United  States." 
The  two  Red  Cross  men  came  and  told  me  they 
were  students  at  Cambridge.     They  talked  to  me 

194 


HOMEWARD  BOUND 

for  quite  a  little  while.  Before  they  left  me  to 
attend  to  some  more  wounded,  they  made  me 
promise  to  ask  to  be  sent  to  Cambridge,  England, 
to  hospital.  The  University  had  established  a 
very  large  and  thoroughly  equipped  hospital 
there.  All  I  had  to  do,  they  said,  was  tell  the 
people  that  I  had  been  a  student  at  the  other 
Cambridge,  and  I  should  be  an  honored  guest. 
They  persisted  in  calling  Harvard,  Cambridge, 
and  when  they  went  away  said  that  they  were 
overjoyed  to  have  seen  a  man  from  the  sister 
university. 

The  doctor  came  back  in  a  few  minutes. 

"  How  are  you  feeling  now?  "  he  said. 

"  I  feel  pretty  well  now,"  I  answered,  "  but  it 's 
very  close  in  here  with  all  these  wounded  men, 
and  the  place  smells  of  chloroform.  Can't  I  be 
moved  outside?  " 

"  I  '11  move  you  outside  if  you  say  so,"  said 
the  doctor,  "  but  you  're  taking  a  chance.  Occa- 
sionally a  stray  shell  comes  over  this  way.  The 
Turks  are  trying  to  locate  a  battery  close  to  this 
place.  Sometimes  a  shell  bursts  prematurely, 
and  drops  around  here." 

On  the  Peninsula,  officers  who  gave  men  leave 
to  go  on  dangerous  missions  salved  their  con- 

195 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

sciences  by  first  warning  the  men  that  in  doing 
it  "  they  were  taking  a  chance."  The  caution 
had  come  to  mean  nothing. 

"All  right,  doctor,"  I  said.  "I'll  take  a 
chance." 

Two  stretcher  bearers  came,  and  lifted  me  out- 
side the  shelter,  where  the  wind  blew,  fresh  and 
invigorating.  Just  as  they  turned,  I  heard  the 
old  familiar  shriek  that  signaled  the  coming  of  a 
shell.  It  burst  almost  overhead.  Most  of  the 
missiles  it  contained  dropped  on  the  other  side 
of  the  shelter,  but  a  few  tiny  pieces  flew  in  my 
direction.  Three  of  them  hit  me  in  the  right 
arm,  a  fourth  landed  in  my  leg. 

"Is  anybody  hit?"  yelled  a  Red  Cross  man, 
whose  accent  proclaimed  him  as  an  inhabitant 
of  the  country  north  of  the  Clyde. 

"  I  've  got  a  couple  of  splinters,"  I  said. 

I  was  lifted  inside  quickly.  The  Scotchman 
who  put  on  some  bandages  on  the  little  cuts 
looked  at  me  accusingly. 

"  Ye  were  warned,  before  ye  went,"  he  said. 
"Ye  desairved  it.  But  then,"  he  added,  "ye 
might  hae  got  it  worse.  Ye  're  lucky  ye  did  not 
get  it  in  the  guts." 

After  a  little  while  mv  arms  and  back  began 

196 


HOMEWARD  BOUND 

to  ache  violently.  Two  Red  Cross  men  came 
along  and  moved  me  to  another  shelter  similar  to 
the  first.  This  was  the  clearing  station.  From 
here  motor  ambulances  carried  the  wounded  to 
the  shore.  I  knew  from  the  burring  speech  of 
the  big  sergeant  in  charge  that  he  hailed 
from  Scotland.  I  asked  him  where  he  came 
from,  and  he  told  me  that  he  came  from  Inver- 
ness. 

"  Our  regiment  trained  near  there  for  a  while/ ^ 
I  said.     "  They  garrisoned  Fort  George." 

"  Ye  '11  no'  be  meanin'  the  Seaforth  Highland- 
ers, laddie,"  said  he. 

^'  No,  I  said,  "  we  're  Newfoundlanders,  the 
First  Newfoundland  Regiment." 

"  Oh,  I  ken  ye  well,  noo,"  he  said,  gloomily. 
"  Ye  're  a  bad  lot ;  it  took  six  policemen  to  ar- 
rest one  o'  your  mob.  On  the  Peninsula  they 
call  ye  the  Never  Failing  Little  Darlings."  After 
that  he  thawed  quite  a  little.  "  I  '11  look  at  your 
wound  noo,  laddie,"  he  said,  after  a  few  minutes. 
"  Ye  're  awfu'  light,  laddie,"  he  said  as  he  raised 
me.  "  Puir  laddie,"  he  added,  pityingly.  "  Puir 
laddie.  Ye  're  stairved.  I  '11  get  ye  Queen 
Mary's  ration." 

"  What 's  Queen  Mary's  ration?  "  I  asked. 

197 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

" '  T  's  Queen  Mary's  gift  to  the  wounded. 
I  '11  get  it  for  ye  right  away."  He  went  outside 
the  clearing  station  and  returned  in  a  few  min- 
utes with  a  cup  of  warm  malted  milk.  "  '  T  will 
help  ye  some  till  ye  get  aboard  the  hospital  ship. 
Here  's  the  ambulance  noo." 

A  fleet  of  motor  ambulances  swayed  over  the 
uneven  ground  and  rolled  up  close  to  the  clearing 
station.  The  drivers  and  helpers  began  loading 
the  stretchers  aboard  and  one  by  one  started 
awa3^  Before  I  was  put  into  one,  the  big  Scotch- 
man took  a  large  syringe  and  injected  a  strong 
dose  of  morphia  into  my  chest. 

"  Ye  '11  find  it  hard,"  he  said,  "  bumping  over 
the  hill,  but  ye'  11  soon  be  all  right  and  com- 
fortable." 

"  Tell  me,"  I  said,  "  shall  I  get  into  a  real  bed 
on  the  ship?" 

He  laughed.  "  Sure  ye  will,  laddie.  The  best 
bed  ye  've  had  since  ye  've  been  in  the  airmy. 
Good  luck  to  ye,  laddie." 

Each  of  the  motor  ambulances  carried  four 
men,  two  above  and  two  below.  I  was  put  on 
top,  and  the  door  flap  pulled  over.  We  jolted 
and  pitched  and  swayed.  Once  we  turned  short 
and  skidded  at  a  curve.     I  knew  just  the  very 

198 


HOMEWARD  BOUND 

place,  although  it  was  dark  in  the  ambulance.  I 
had  gone  over  the  road  often  with  ration  parties. 
Fortunately  the  morphia  was  beginning  to  take 
effect,  and  dulled  the  pain  to  some  extent.  At 
last  the  ambulance  stopped,  somebody  pulled 
the  curtain  back,  and  we  were  lifted  out.  We 
were  on  West  Beach.  A  pier  ran  out  into  the 
sea.  A  man-o'-war  launch  towing  a  string  of 
boats  glided  in  near  enough  to  let  her  first  boat 
come  close  to  the  pier.  The  breeze  was  quite 
fresh,  and  made  me  shiver.  The  stretchers  were 
laid  across  the  boats,  close  to  each  other.  Soon 
all  the  boats  were  filled.  I  could  see  the  man  on 
the  stretcher  to  the  right  of  me,  but  the  one  on 
the  other  side  I  could  not  see.  I  tried  to  turn 
my  head  but  could  not.  The  eyes  of  the  man 
next  me  were  large  with  pain.  I  smiled  at  him, 
but  instead  of  smiling  back  at  me,  his  lip  curled 
resentfully,  and  he  turned  over  on  his  side 
so  that  he  could  face  away  from  me.  As  he  did, 
the  blanket  slipped  from  his  shoulder,  and  I  saw 
on  his  shoulder  strap  the  star  of  a  second  lieu- 
tenant. I  had  committed  the  unpardonable  sin. 
I  had  smiled  at  an  officer  as  if  I  had  been  an 
equal,  forgetting  that  he  was  not  made  of  common 
clay.     Once  after  that,  when  he  turned  his  head, 

199 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

his  eyes  met  mine  disdainfully.  That  time  I  did 
not  smile.  I  have  often  laughed  at  the  incident 
since,  but  there  on  that  boat  I  was  boiling  with 
rage.  Not  a  word  had  passed  between  us,  but 
his  expression  in  turning  away  had  been  elo- 
quent. I  cursed  him  and  the  system  that  pro- 
duced him,  and  swore  that  never  again  would  I 
put  on  a  uniform.  Gradually  I  calmed  down; 
the  morphia  had  got  in  its  work.  In  a  little 
while  I  had  sunk  into  a  comatose  condition.  I 
remember,  in  a  hazy  sort  of  way,  being  taken 
aboard  a  large  lighter.  There  were  tiers  of 
stretchers  on  both  sides.  This  time  I  was  in  the 
lower  tier,  and  was  wondering  how  soon  the  man 
above  me  would  fall  on  me.  At  last  I  went 
to  sleep.  When  I  awoke,  I  was  alone  and  in  mid- 
air. All  about  me  was  black.  By  that  time  I 
was  completely  paralyzed  from  the  waist  up.  I 
could  see  only  directly  above  my  head.  It  was 
night,  and  the  sky  was  dotted  with  twinkling 
stars.  I  could  feel  no  movement,  but  the  stars 
came  slowly  nearer  and  nearer.  "  What  was  I 
doing  here  in  mid-air?"  Subconsciously  I 
thought  of  the  body  of  Mohammed,  suspended 
between  earth  and  heaven.  Now  I  felt  I  had  hit 
on  the  answer.     I  was  going  to  heaven,  and  the 

200 


HOMEWARD  BOUND 

thought  was  very  comforting.  Suddenly  the 
stars  stopped,  and  after  a  pause  began  receding. 
A  face  appeared  above  me,  then  the  head  and 
shoulders  of  a  man  dressed  in  the  uniform  of  a 
naval  officer.  This  suggested  something  else  to 
me.  The  officers  of  the  Flying  Corps  wear  naval 
uniforms.  I  decided  that  while  I  was  asleep  I 
had  been  transferred  to  the  Flying  Corps. 

"  Hello,  old  chap,"  said  the  naval  officer. 
"  Do  you  know  where  you  are?  " 

"  No,''  I  said.  "  Am  I  going  to  heaven,  or  have 
I  joined  the  Flying  Corps?" 

"  No,"  said  the  officer.  "  You  're  on  the 
stretcher  being  hoisted  aboard  the  hospital  ship." 

Two  big,  strapping,  bronzed  sailors  approached 
and  lifted  the  stretcher  on  to  an  elevator;  they 
stepped  on  and  the  elevator  descended.  We 
stopped  at  the  end  of  a  short  white-walled  pas- 
sage-way, lighted  by  electricity.  The  sailors 
grasped  the  stretcher  as  lightly  as  if  it  had  been 
empty,  walked  along  to  the  end  of  the  passage- 
way into  a  ward.  It  had  formerly  been  a  dining 
saloon.  Large  square  windows  looked  out  upon 
the  sea,  everything  was  white  and  clean  and  or- 
derly. After  the  dirt  and  filth  of  the  Peninsula 
it  was  like  a  beautiful  dream.     The  sailors  lifted 

201 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

me  gently  into  a  bed  and  stood  there  waiting  for 
orders  from  the  nurse.  As  I  looked  at  them  I 
thought  of  our  boys  standing  in  the  trenches 
during  a  bombardment  and  yelling,  "  Come  on, 
the  navy,"  and  I  murmured,  "  Come  on,  the 
navy ;  "  and  then  when  I  looked  at  the  calm,  self- 
possessed,  capable-looking  nursing  sister,  moving 
about  amongst  the  wounded,  I  said,  and  never 
had  it  meant  so  much  to  me,  "  Good  old  Britain." 

The  string  of  boats  in  which  I  had  come  was 
the  batch  that  filled  the  quota  of  the  patients  of 
the  hospital  ship.  In  about  half  an  hour  she 
began  to  move.  An  orderly  came  around  with 
meals.  The  doctor  came  in  after  a  little  while 
and  began  examining  the  patients.  From  some 
part  of  the  ship  not  far  from  where  I  was  came 
the  sound  of  voices  singing  hymns.  It  was  the 
last  touch  needed  to  emphasize  the  difference  be- 
tween the  hospital  ship  and  the  Peninsula.  Sun- 
day evening  on  the  Peninsula  had  meant  no  more 
than  any  other.  The  ship  moved  along  so  quietly 
that  she  seemed  scarcely  to  stir.  The  doctor  and 
the  nurse  worked  noiselessly;  over  everything 
hung  the  spirit  of  Sabbath  calm.  Gallipoli 
might  have  been  as  far  away  as  Mars. 

It  must  have  been  about  nine  o'clock  when  an 

202 


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o 
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w 

a- 

td 
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HOMEWARD  BOUND 

orderly  came  around  and  turned  out  all  the 
lights  except  a  reading  lamp  over  the  desk  where 
the  night  sister  sat.  All  that  night  I  could  not 
sleep.  About  midnight  the  night  sister  gave  me 
a  sleeping  draught,  but  it  did  no  good.  I  was 
suffering  the  most  intense  pain,  but  I  was  so  glad 
to  be  away  from  the  dirt  of  the  trenches  that  I 
felt  nothing  else  counted.  The  next  day  I  was 
a  great  deal  weaker,  and  could  scarcely  talk. 
When  the  doctor  came  around  to  dress  my 
wounds,  I  could  only  smile  at  him.  All  that  day 
the  sister  came  to  my  bed  at  frequent  intervals. 
I  was  too  weak  then  to  eat.  Two  or  three  times 
she  gave  me  some  sort  of  broth  through  a  little 
feeding  bowl.  In  the  evening  I  had  sunk  into 
apathy.  The  sister  sent  for  the  doctor.  He 
came,  felt  my  pulse,  took  my  temperature,  then 
turned  and  whispered  to  the  sister.  She  called 
an  orderly,  and  I  heard  her  say,  "  Bring  the 
screens  for  this  man."  The  orderly  went  away 
and  in  a  few  minutes  returned  with  two  screens 
large  enough  to  entirely  conceal  my  bed.  When 
the  screens  had  been  put  in  position,  the  sister 
came  in,  wiped  my  mouth  and  forehead,  and  went 
away.  On  the  other  side  of  the  screen  I  heard 
her  speaking  softly  to  the  doctor.     The  whole 

205 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

thing  seemed  to  me  something  entirely  apart 
from  me.  I  felt  that  I  was  watching  a  scene 
in  a  play,  and  that  I  found  it  of  little  interest. 
After  about  an  hour  the  doctor  and  the  sister 
came  in  again. 

"  Feeling  all  right,  old  man?  "  said  the  doctor. 

"  Yes,"  I  said.     "  Fine." 

"  Sister,"  said  the  doctor,  "  give  this  man  any- 
thing he  wants." 

The  sister  bent  over  me.  She  was  a  woman 
between  thirty  and  thirty-five,  of  the  type  that 
inspires  confidence;  every  word  and  movement 
reflected  poise,  and  there  was  a  calmness  and  se- 
renity about  her  that  you  knew  she  could  have 
acquired  only  as  a  result  of  having  seen  and  eased 
much  human  suffering. 

"  If  there  is  anything  you  would  care  to  have, 
please  ask  for  it,  and  if  it  is  at  all  possible  we 
will  get  it  for  you,"  she  said,  in  a  softly  modu- 
lated voice,  with  the  slightest  suspicion  of  a 
drawl ;  it  was  the  voice  of  a  cultivated  English- 
woman; after  the  Peninsula,  a  woman's  voice 
was  like  a  tonic. 

'^  Yes,"  I  said,  "  I  want  chicken  and  wine." 

I  had  not  the  slightest  desire  for  chicken  and 
wine  just  then,  but  I  felt  that  I  had  to  ask  for 

206 


HOMEWARD  BOUND 

something,  and  the  best  I  could  think  of  was 
chicken  and  wine.  She  smiled  at  me,  went  away, 
and  in  about  fifteen  minutes  she  returned  with  a 
little  tray.  She  had  brought  the  chicken  and 
wine.  She  had  minced  up  the  chicken,  and  she 
fed  me  little  pieces  of  it  with  a  spoon.  In  a  little 
cup  with  a  spout  she  had  the  wine.  When  I  had 
eaten  a  little  of  the  chicken,  she  put  the  spout 
between  my  lips ;  I  had  expected  some  port  wine, 
but  when  I  tasted,  it  was  champagne.  I  drank 
it  to  the  very  last  drop. 

"  How  do  you  feel  now?  "  said  the  sister. 

'^  Never  felt  better,''  I  answered. 

"  That 's  very  nice,"  she  said.  "  I  hope  you  '11 
get  to  sleep  soon." 

Then  she  went  away,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the 
night  sister  came  on.  She  peeped  in  at  me, 
smiled,  and  went  away.  All  that  night  I  looked 
up  at  a  tiny  spot  on  the  ceiling.  In  the  board 
directly  above  my  eyes,  there  was  a  curious  knot. 
A  little  flaw  ran  across  the  center  of  it.  It  re- 
minded me  of  a  postman  carrying  his  bag  of  let- 
ters. It  seemed  to  me  that  night  that  I  could 
stand  the  pain  no  longer.  My  back  seemed  to  be 
tearing  apart,  as  if  a  man  was  pulling  on  each 
shoulder,  trying  to  separate  them  from  the  spine. 

207 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

I  tried  to  jump  up  from  the  bed  but  could  not 
move  a  muscle.  I  felt  that  it  would  be  better  to 
tear  my  back  apart  myself  at  once  and  have  it 
over,  but  when  I  tried  to  move  my  arms  I  found 
them  useless.  It  must  have  been  well  into  the 
morning  when  the  night  sister  came  around 
again.  The  doctor  was  with  her.  He  had  a 
large  syringe  in  his  hand.  He  said  nothing. 
Neither  did  I.  I  closed  my  eyes.  I  wanted  to 
be  alone.  I  felt  him  oj^en  my  shirt  at  the  neck 
and  rub  some  liquid  on  my  chest.  I  opened  my 
eyes.  He  was  putting  the  needle  of  the  long 
syringe  into  my  chest  where  he  had  rubbed  it 
with  iodine.  The  skin  was  leathery  and  at  first 
the  needle  would  not  penerate.  At  last  it  went 
in  with  a  rush.  It  seemed  at  least  a  foot  long. 
He  rubbed  another  spot,  and  plunged  the  needle 
in  a  second  time.  "  We  've  got  to  get  him 
asleep,"  he  said  to  the  night  sister.  "  If  he  's 
not  asleep  in  an  hour,  call  me  again."  Very  soon 
a  drowsiness  crept  over  me.  Nothing  seemed  to 
matter.  I  wanted  to  rest.  In  a  short  time  I 
was  asleep.  When  I  woke,  it  was  broad  daylight. 
The  day  sister  was  standing  by  my  bed,  smiling. 
She  turned  around  and  beckoned  to  some  one. 

208 


HOMEWARD  BOUND 

The  doctor  came  close  to  the  bed,  felt  my  pulse, 
took  my  temperature  again,  and  smiled.  ''  Quite 
all  right,  sister,"  he  said. 

An  orderly  came  in,  lifted  me  up  in  bed, 
washed  my  face  and  hands,  and  brought  in  a  tray 
with  chicken.  There  was  the  same  little  feeding 
cup.  This  time  it  had  port  wine  in  it.  The  or- 
derly propped  me  up  in  bed,  putting  cushions 
carefully  behind  my  back  and  shoulders.  The 
sister  and  the  doctor  superintended  while  he  was 
doing  it.  Lifting  a  wounded  man  is  a  science. 
An  unskilful  person,  no  matter  how  well  inten- 
tioned,  may  sometimes  do  incalculable  damage. 
Putting  a  strain  on  the  wrong  muscle  may  undo 
the  work  of  the  doctor.  I  could  see  out  one  of 
the  large  windows  now,  and  I  noticed  that  we 
were  passing  a  good  many  ships,  mostly  vessels  of 
war.  They  seemed  to  increase  in  number  every 
few  minutes;  and  by  the  time  I  had  finished 
breakfast,  we  were  in  the  midst  of  a  forest  of 
funnels  and  rigging.  Soon  the  engines  stopped. 
When  the  doctor  came  around  to  dress  my  back, 
I  asked  him  where  we  were. 

"  We  're  in  Alexandria,  now,"  he  said.    "  In  an 
hour's  time  we  '11  have  unloaded.     You  're  the 

209 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

last  patient  to  be  dressed.  We  're  doing  you  last 
so  that  you  won't  have  so  long  to  wait  before  the 
bandages  are  changed." 

"■  Doctor,"  I  asked,  "  how  long  will  it  be  be- 
fore this  wound  gets  better?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  said.  "  It 's  impossible  to 
tell  until  you  've  been  X-rayed.  Last  night  we 
were  certain  you  were  dying,  but  this  morning 
you  are  perfectly  normal." 

In  a  short  time  the  ward  filled  with  men  from 
the  shore,  landing  officers,  orderlies  with  mes- 
sages, sergeants  in  charge  of  ambulance  corps, 
and  an  army  of  stretcher  bearers.  The  orderlies 
of  the  hospital  ship  began  putting  out  the  kits  of 
the  wounded  at  the  foot  of  their  beds.  The  dis- 
embarkation began  as  soon  as  the  doctor  had  com- 
pleted his  dressing.  I  was  propped  up  in  bed, 
and  could  see  a  long  line  of  motor  ambulances 
on  the  pier.  The  less  seriously  wounded  cases 
were  taken  off  first.  The  sister  told  me  that 
these  were  going  by  train  to  Cairo.  Those  who 
could  not  stand  the  train  journey  were  going  to 
different  hospitals  in  Alexandria.  I  was  to  go 
to  Alexandria,  she  said.  A  middle-aged  man 
passed  us  on  a  stretcher.  He  was  hit  in  the  leg, 
and  sat  on  the  stretcher,  smiling  contentedly, 

210 


HOMEWARD  BOUND 

and  looking  about  him  interestedly.  When  he 
saw  the  sister,  his  eyes  lighted  up. 

"  Good-by,  sister,"  he  shouted.  "  I  '11  see  you 
again,  the  next  time  I  'm  wounded." 

The  sister  returned  his  good-by.  Then  sh^e 
turned  to  me,  and  said :  "  That  man  was  on  the 
hospital  train  that  left  Antwerp  the  day  the 
Germans  shelled  it  in  1914.  When  he  came  in 
the  other  night  I  did  n't  recognize  him,  but  he  re- 
membered me." 

While  I  waited  for  my  turn  the  sister  told 
me  that  she  had  been  in  the  first  batch  of  nurses 
to  cross  the  Channel  at  the  beginning  of  the  war. 
She  had  been  in  the  hospitals  in  Belgium  that 
were  shelled  by  the  Germans.  At  eight  o'clock 
in  the  morning  she  had  left  Antwerp  on  the  last 
hospital  train,  and  at  nine  o'clock  the  Germans 
occupied  the  town.  She  had  been  on  different 
hospital  ships  and  trains  ever  since.  Once  only 
had  she  had  a  rest.  That  was  some  time  in  the 
summer  of  1915.  She  expected  a  week  off  in 
London  at  Christmas,  when  the  ship  she  was  now 
attached  to  laid  up  for  repairs.  The  boat  I  was 
on,  she  said,  carried  ordinarily  seven  hundred 
and  fifty  wounded.  At  present  she  carried  nine 
hundred.     They  generally  arrived  in  Suvla  Bay 

211 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

in  the  morning,  and  left  that  night,  filled  with 
wounded.  At  the  time  of  the  first  landing  at 
Auzac  an  hour  after  the  assault  began  they 
left  with  twelve  hundred  wounded  Australians. 
The  sisters  were  sent  out  from  a  central 
depot  in  England,  and  went  to  the  various  fronts. 
When  the  stretcher  bearers  came  to  take  me 
away,  the  sister  gathered  up  my  belongings  in 
a  little  bag,  tied  it  to  the  stretcher,  put  a 
pillow  under  my  head,  and  nodded  a  bright 
good-by. 

The  stretcher  bearers,  two  stalwart  Austra- 
lians, took  me  to  the  elevator,  across  the  deck, 
and  out  onto  the  pier.  It  was  now  getting  to- 
ward evening.  A  lady  stopped  the  stretcher  be- 
tween the  pier  and  the  ambulance,  and  handed 
one  of  the  bearers  a  little  white  packet  contain- 
ing a  towel,  soap,  tooth-brush  and  tooth-powder. 
Without  waiting  to  be  thanked  she  went  on 
to  intercept  another  stretcher.  The  stretcher 
bearer  put  the  package  under  my  pillow. 
"  Ready,  Bill,"  said  one  of  the  bearers  with  the 
nasal  twang  of  the  Bushman.  "  Lift  away,"  said 
Bill,  and  they  lifted  the  stretcher  up  on  the  top 
tier  of  the  ambulance  wagon,  without  stepping 
up  from  the  ground.     They  did  it  with  the  same 

212 


HOMEWARD  BOUND 

motion  as  when  two  men  swing  a  bag  of  grain. 
But  it  was  not  in  the  least  uncomfortable  for  me. 
These  Australian  stretcher  bearers  who  meet  the 
incoming  hospital  ships  are  amazingly  strong. 
There  is  an  easy  gracefulness  in  the  way  they 
swing  along  with  a  stretcher  that  makes  you 
trust  them.  I  was  the  last  man  to  go  in  that  am- 
bulance w^agon,  and  in  a  few  minutes  we  were 
whirling  smoothly  along  good  roads  amid  the 
familiar  smells  of  Egyptian  bazaars.  This  am- 
bulance drive  was  a  good  deal  different  from 
the  one  on  the  Peninsula  just  after  I  had  been 
wounded.  After  about  half  an  hour  the  ambu- 
lance swerved  off  the  smooth  asphalt  road  onto  a 
gravel  road,  slowed  down,  and  ran  into  a  yard. 
The  Australians  reappeared,  opened  the  flaps, 
and  began  unloading.  We  were  in  the  square  of 
a  large  hospital.  All  around  us  were  buildings. 
A  fine-looking,  bronzed  man,  with  the  uniform 
of  a  colonel,  was  directing  some  Sikhs  who  were 
carrying  the  stretchers  from  the  ambulances  into 
the  different  buildings.  All  the  stretchers  were 
lying  on  the  ground  in  a  long  row.  As  soon  as 
each  one  was  inspected  by  the  colonel,  he  told 
the  stretcher  bearers  where  to  take  it.  When  he 
came  to  mine,  he  said,  "  Dangerously  wounded, 

215 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

Ward   three.     Then,   to   the   stretcher   bearers, 
"  Careful,  very  careful." 

Ward  three  was  a  long  ward  with  stone  floor 
and  plaster  walls;  it  contained  about  fifty  beds. 
More  than  half  of  the  beds  had  little  "  cradles  " 
at  the  foot;  when  I  came  to  know  hospitals,  I 
learned  that  these  were  to  iDrevent  the  bedclothes 
from  irritating  wounded  legs.  In  a  few  min- 
utes a  doctor  came  around,  gave  orders,  and  the 
night  sister  began  bandaging  up  the  wounds  of 
the  men  who  had  come  in.  The  sister  who  ar- 
ranged my  bandages  was  Scotch,  and  the  burr  of 
her  speech  was  pleasant  in  my  ears.  She  came 
back  about  ten  o'clock  and  gave  me  a  sleeping 
potion.  The  change  from  the  hospital  ship  must 
have  been  too  much  excitement  for  me,  because 
I  could  not  get  asleep  that  night.  But  I  did 
not  feel  as  I  had  felt  on  the  hospital  ship.  I 
have  very  seldom  experienced  such  joy  as  I  did 
that  night  when  I  found  that  I  could  move  my 
head.  I  did  it  very  slowly,  and  with  great  pain, 
and  rested  a  long  time  before  I  tried  to 
turn  it  back  again.  The  door  was  right  oppo-^ 
site  my  bed.  I  could  see  the  sand  shining  white 
in  the  moonlight  in  the  square,  and  right  ahead 
of  me  a  large  marquee  where,  I  found  out  later, 

216 


HOMEWARD  BOUND 

some  of  the  convalescent  men  slept.  A  man 
about  four  beds  away  from  mine  was  dying. 
When  I  had  first  come  in  he  had  been  groaning 
at  intervals,  but  now  he  was  silent.  About  one 
or  two  o'clock  an  orderly  came  running  softly 
in  rubber-soled  shoes  to  tell  the  sister  that  the 
man  had  died.  Half  an  hour  later  two  men  with 
a  particularly  long  stretcher,  appeared  in  the 
w^ard.  They  stepped  quietly,  trying  not  to  dis- 
turb the  sleepers.  I  saw  them  walk  along  to  the 
bed  of  the  dead  man,  and  go  in  behind  the  screen. 
After  a  litle  while  the  ward  orderly  moved  the 
screens  back,  and  the  stretcher  bearers  reap- 
peared. Over  the  burden  on  the  stretcher  was 
draped  a  Union  Jack.  Often  after  that  while  I 
was  in  Ward  three  I  saw  the  same  soft-step- 
ping men  come  in  at  night  and  depart  silently 
with  the  flag-draped  stretcher.  Many  of  the 
wounded  left  the  ward  in  that  way,  but  their 
places  were  soon  filled  by  incoming  wounded. 

The  first  morning  I  was  in  Ward  three  the  doc- 
tor ordered  me  to  be  X-rayed.  The  X-ray  ap- 
paratus was  in  another  building.  To  get  to  it 
I  had  to  pass  through  the  square.  The  sun  was 
too  hot  in  the  morning  for  us  to  cross  the  square. 
We  therefore  skirted  it  under  the  shade  of  the 

217 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

long  portico  that  runs  along  the  outside  of  nearly 
all  buildings  in  Egypt.  In  beds  outside  the 
building  were  men  with  dysentery.  At  the  cor- 
ner of  the  square  a  plank  gangway  led  to  the 
quarters  of  the  enteric  patients.  Just  before  I 
reached  the  X-ray  room,  a  man  hailed  me  from 
one  of  the  beds.  It  was  Tom  Smythe,  a  boy  I 
had  known  since  I  was  able  to  walk.  All  the 
time  I  had  been  on  the  Peninsula  I  had  not  seen 
him,  nor  had  I  heard  any  news  of  him.  On  the 
way  back  from  the  X-ray  room,  the  stretcher 
bearers  stopped  near  his  bed  while  I  talked  with 
him.  He  had  been  in  the  hospital  about  two 
weeks,  he  said,  and  hoped  to  get  to  England  on 
the  next  boat.  He  promised  to  come  to  see  me 
in  my  ward  as  soon  as  he  was  allowed  up.  The 
next  day  he  came,  although  he  w^as  not  supposed 
to  be  up,  and  brought  with  him  a  chap  named 
Varney.  Varney  had  been  in  the  section  next 
mine  at  Stob's  Camp  in  Scotland,  he  told  me, 
Smythe  and  Varney  vied  with  each  other  after 
that  in  trying  to  make  me  comfortable.  To  me 
that  has  always  been  the  most  remarkable  thing 
about  our  regiment:  their  loyalty  to  a  com- 
rade in  trouble.  I  have  known  Newfoundlanders 
to  light  with  each  other,  using  every  weapon  from 

218 


HOMEWARD  BOUND 

profanity  to  tent  mallets  while  in  camp ;  on  the 
Peninsula  I  have  seen  these  same  men  carrying 
each  other's  packs,  digging  dugouts,  and  taking 
the  other  man's  fatigue  work.  Varney  was  very 
much  distressed  to  see  the  condition  I  was  in. 
He  knew  I  was  fond  of  reading,  and  searched  all 
over  the  place  for  books  and  magazines.  Once 
he  brought  me  three  American  magazines,  one 
Saturday  Evening  Post  and  two  Munsey's. 
They  were  nearly  two  years  old,  but  I  read  them 
as  eagerly  as  if  they  had  just  been  published. 
During  the  six  weeks  I  was  in  hospital  in  Alex- 
andria, I  improved  wonderfully.  The  doctor  in 
charge  of  the  ward  took  a  special  interest  in  my 
progress,  and  seemed  to  pride  himself  on  hav- 
ing handled  the  case  successfully.  Every  day 
or  so  he  brought  in  a  doctor  from  some  other 
ward  to  show  him  my  wounds  and  the  X-ray 
plates.  He  was  very  careful  and  tried  in  dress- 
ing to  cause  me  as  little  pain  as  possible.  "  Poor 
old  chap,"  he  would  say,  when  he  saw  me  wince, 
"  poor  old  chap."  I  think  there  was  a  great  deal 
of  psychology  in  my  getting  w^ell.  In  this  Twen- 
ty-first General  Hospital  nothing  was  omitted 
that  could  make  one  comfortable.  Every  morn- 
ing an  orderly  w^ashed  me.     The  orderlies  were 

219 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

all  very  considerate,  except  one.  He  did  not  last 
very  long  in  our  ward.  He  began  washing  the 
l^atients  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning.  He  al- 
ways made  me  think  of  a  hostler  washing  a  car- 
riage. When  he  had  washed  my  arms  he  always 
let  them  drop  in  a  way  that  reminded  me  of  the 
shafts  of  a  wagon.  He  was  soon  replaced  by  a 
chap  who  did  not  begin  his  work  until  seven. 
At  eight  we  had  breakfast :  fruit,  cereal,  and  eggs. 
At  eleven  we  had  soda  water  and  crackers  or 
sweet  biscuits.  At  one  came  dinner:  soup, 
chicken,  and  vegetables,  half  a  chicken  to  each 
man,  with  a  dessert  of  pudding  or  custard.  At 
four  we  had  tea,  with  fish,  and  at  eight  came 
supper:  cocoa  and  bread  and  butter,  with  jelly. 
In  the  morning  visitors  came  in  and  brought  us 
the  daily  papers.  Sisters  of  the  V.  A.  D. — Vol- 
untary Aid  Detachment — came  in  each  afternoon 
to  relieve  the  regular  nursing  sisters.  They 
were  mostly  Englishwomen  resident  in  Egypt. 
Most  of  their  men  folks  were  at  one  of  the  fronts. 
They  read  to  the  men  who  could  not  hold  books 
in  their  hands,  talked  to  us  cheerfully,  and  wrote 
letters  for  us.  Some  of  them  brought  us  little 
delicacies:  grapes  and  chocolate.  Men  in  hos- 
pital have  no  money.     Any  money  they  have  is 

220 


HOMEWARD  BOUND 

taken  away  when  they  arrive  and  refunded  when 
they  leave.  Like  most  of  the  rules  in  the  army 
to-day,  this  was  made  for  the  old  regulars. 
When  the  regulars  felt  they  needed  a  rest  they 
went  into  hospital;  the  only  way  they  could  be 
stopped  was  to  keep  all  their  money  away  from 
them.  To-day  two  million  men  suffer  as  a  result. 
Ever  since  the  day  I  left  the  Peninsula  I  had 
wanted  chocolate.  Biit  I  had  no  money,  and  for 
a  long  time  I  had  to  go  without  it.  At  last 
young  Varney  got  me  some.  He  had  gone  er- 
rands for  a  wounded  Australian,  who  had  been 
given  some  money  from  outside,  and  the  Aus- 
tralian had  given  him  some ;  he  could  hardly  wait 
to  get  to  me  with  it. 

As  soon  as  a  man  was  sufficiently  recovered  to 
travel,  he  was  sent  to  England.  New  men  were 
always  coming  in  to  take  the  places  of  the  old. 
A  lot  of  them  were  Australians.  I  kept  asking 
them  all  as  they  came  in  if  they  could  tell  me 
anything  of  my  friend  White  George.  Of  course 
a  nickname  is  very  little  to  go  on.  A  man  who 
w^as  White  George  in  one  part  of  the  trench  might 
be  Queensland  Harry  in  another.  All  I  knew 
about  him  was  that  he  was  in  the  Fifteenth 
Battalion,  and  that  he  had  a  beard.    At  last  a 

221 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

chap  did  come  in  oue  evening  from  the  Fifteenth 
Battalion.  I  was  in  bed  at  the  time,  and 
could  not  get  a  chance  to  ask  him  about  White 
George.  The  next  day  the  poor  chap  was  writh- 
ing and  screaming  in  the  terrible  spasms  of  tet- 
anus, and  for  two  days  the  screens  were  around 
his  bed.  On  the  third  day  he  was  better.  As 
soon  as  Varney  came  in,  he  wheeled  me  up  to  the 
Australian's  bed.  I  asked  him  what  was  the 
matter  with  him,  and  he  told  me  that  he  had  a 
flesh  wound  in  the  head  that  did  n't  bother  him, 
but  that  his  left  leg  was  off  at  the  knee. 

"Are  you  from  the  Fifteenth  Battalion?"  I 
asked. 

"  Yes,"  he  said. 

''  Do  you  know  a  chap  in  that  battalion,"  I 
said,  "  that  they  call  White  George?  " 

The  w^ounded  Australian  looked  at  me  in  a 
quizzical  way.  Then  he  drawled  slowly,  "  Well, 
I  think  I  do.  Why,  damn  it,  man,  I  'm  White 
George." 

Then  he  recognized  me.  "  Why,  it 's  the  New- 
foundland Corporal.  Hello,  Corporal.  You  're 
just  the  man  I  wanted  to  see,"  he  said.  "  I 
stood  on  that  bomb  all  right,  and  got  away  with 
it — once.     When  I  tried  it  a  second  time,  I  put 

222 


HOMEWARD  BOUND 

the  bomb  on  the  firing  platform,  and  when  I 
stepped  on  it,  my  head  was  over  the  parapet; 
Johnny  Turk  got  me  in  the  head,  and  the  bomb 
did  the  rest." 

"  Don't  you  wish  now  you  had  n't  tried  the  ex- 
periment? "  I  said. 

"  No,"  said  White  George,  "  I  feel  perfectly 
satisfied." 

"  By  the  way,"  I  said,  as  I  was  leaving  him, 
"why  do  they  call  you  White  George?  Your 
hair  is  dark." 

"  My  real  name,"  he  said,  "  is  George  White, 
but  on  the  regimental  roll  it  reads  *  White, 
George.' " 


223 


CHAPTER  IX 

"  FEENISH  " 

IT  must  have  been  about  the  sixth  week  that 
I  was  iu  Egypt  that  one  of  the  Australians 
came  over  to  my  bed  and  told  me  that  my  name 
was  on  the  list  of  men  to  go  to  England  by  the 
next  boat.  I  was  allowed  up  for  two  hours  in 
the  afternoon ;  and  when  I  got  up  I  looked  at  the 
list,  and  found  my  name  there.  An  orderly  from 
the  stores  came  in  and  asked  me  for  a  list  of 
clothing  I  needed.  He  came  back  in  about  an 
hour  with  a  complete  uniform  and  kit.  The  sis- 
ter told  me  that  I  was  to  go  to  England  the  next 
morning.  At  ten  o'clock  the  next  day  I  was 
taken  out  to  the  little  clearing  station  in  the 
square,  and  put  in  with  a  lot  of  other  men  on 
stretchers.  An  officer  came  around  and  in- 
spected our  kits.  A  little  later  a  sergeant  from 
the  pay  office  gave  each  man  an  advance  of 
twelve  shillings.  After  that  the  loading  began. 
A  line  of  about  twenty  ambulances  filed  out  of 

224 


"FEENISH" 

the  yard  and  through  the  malodorous  byways  of 
Alexandria  to  the  waterfront.  Here  we  were 
put  aboard  the  hospital  ship  Rewa,  an  old  rocky 
tub  that  had  been  an  Indian  troopship  before  the 
war.  I  learned  this  from  an  old  English  regu- 
lar in  the  stretcher  next  me.  He  had  seen  her 
often  before,  and  had  made  a  trip  from  England 
to  India  in  her  once.  The  Rewa  was  so  full  of 
men  that  the  latest  arrivals  had  to  go  on  deck  in 
hammocks.  The  thought  of  a  trip  across  the  Bay 
of  Biscay  as  deck  passenger  on  the  Rewa  was  not 
very  attractive,  but  our  fears  on  this  point  were 
soon  allayed  by  one  of  the  ship's  officers.  We 
were  not  going  to  England  on  the  Reica,  he  said. 
We  were  going  to  Lemnos  Island,  and  in  Mudros 
Bay  we  should  transship  into  the  Aquitania. 
When  we  had  cleared  Alexandria  Harbor,  the 
wind  had  freshened  considerably.  All  that  night 
and  the  next  day  we  pitched  and  rolled  heavily. 
The  second  night,  when  we  had  expected  to  reach 
Mudros  Bay,  we  were  still  twenty-four  hours 
away  from  it.  Canvas  sheets  had  to  be  rigged 
above  the  bulwarks  to  prevent  the  spray  from 
drenching  the  men  in  the  stretchers  on  deck. 
The  next  day  a  good  many  men  were  sea  sick, 
and  it  was  not  till  the  next  evening  that  the  storm 

225 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

abated.  Even  then  it  was  too  rough  to  get  close 
to  the  big  ship.  We  did  try  to  get  near  her  once, 
and  succeeded  in  getting  one  hawser  fast,  but  the 
wind  and  tide  drove  us  so  hard  against  her,  that 
the  captain  of  the  Aquitania  would  take  no  more 
risks  and  ordered  us  ofif.  We  had  to  lay  to  all 
that  evening,  and  the  next  morning.  At  noon 
the  wind  died  down  enough  to  begin  the  trans- 
shipment from  the  smaller  ships.  We  waited 
while  seven  other  hospital  ships  transferred  their 
human  freight,  and  then  moved  up  near  enough 
to  put  gangways  between  the  two  boats.  The 
change  was  effected  very  expeditiously.  We 
were  soon  transferred,  and  settled  in  our  new 
quarters.  I  was  in  a  ward  with  some  Australian 
troops  on  the  top  deck.  Board  petitions  had 
been  run  up  from  it  to  the  promenade  deck,  mak- 
ing a  long  bright,  well  ventilated  corridor. 
There  was  only  one  drawback  on  the  Aquitania. 
The  sister  in  charge  of  our  ward  did  not  like 
Colonials,  and  made  it  pretty  plain.  She  was 
rather  a  superior  person  who  did  not  like  to  dress 
wounds.  We  were  to  make  two  stops  before  we 
arrived  in  England,  I  was  told ;  one  at  Salonica 
to  take  on  some  sick,  the  other  at  Naples  for 
coal.     The  Salonica  stop  took  place  at  night. 

226 


"FEENISH" 

We  did  not  go  into  the  harbor;  probably  it  was 
not  deep  enough  for  the  Aquitania.  The  sick 
were  taken  aboard  outside.  We  came  to  Naples 
early  one  fine  Sunday  morning.  As  we  went  into 
the  harbor,  I  could  see  through  the  window  Mt. 
Vesuvius,  smoking  steadily.  We  were  in  Naples 
at  the  same  time  as  the  big  Olympic ,  and  the 
Mauretania,  the  sister  ship  of  the  Lusitania.  It 
was  the  time  that  the  Germans  had  protested 
that  the  British  hospital  ships  carried  troops  to 
the  Dardanelles  on  the  return  trip.  The  neutral 
consuls  in  Naples  went  aboard  the  Olympic  and 
Mauretania  that  Sunday  and  investigated.  The 
charge,  of  course,  was  unfounded.  An  Italian 
general  and  his  staff  came  aboard  our  ship  and 
were  shown  around  the  wards.  He  was  a  dapper 
little  man,  who  gesticulated  vehemently  and 
bowed  to  all  the  sisters.  The  sister  who  did  not 
like  Colonials  was  speaking  to  him  when  he  came 
through  our  ward.  She  was  trying  to  impress 
him  with  the  excellent  treatment  our  wounded 
received.  She  pointed  out  each  man  to  him,  in 
the  same  way  a  keeper  does  at  the  zoological  gar- 
dens. 

"  They  get  this  every  evening,"  she  said,  indi- 
cating the  supper  we  were  eating.     "  And  what 

227 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

is  this?"  she  said,  looking  at  some  apricot  jam 
on  a  saucer  on  my  bed. 

"  Apricot  jam,  sister,"  I  said,  then  added 
sweetly,  in  my  best  society  fashion,  "  We  get  it 
every  evening."  I  might  have  told  her  that  I 
had  had  it  not  only  every  evening,  but  every  noon 
and  morning  while  I  was  on  the  Peninsula. 

"  And  what  is  this?  "  she  said,  pointing  to  the 
cup  in  my  hand.     "  Is  it  tea  or  cocoa?  " 

"  It 's  tea,"  I  said.  "  We  get  it  every  even- 
ing,—  just  as  if  we  were  human  beings,  and 
not  Colonials."  After  that  I  think  she  liked  Co- 
lonials even  less. 

The  Bay  of  Biscay  was  just  a  little  rough  when 
we  went  through  it,  but  it  did  not  affect  the 
Aquitania  very  much. 

When  the  word  went  around  on  the  day  that 
land  had  been  sighted,  every  man  that  could 
hobble  went  on  deck  to  get  a  first  glimpse  of 
England.  We  could  not  see  very  far  because  of 
the  thick  mist  of  an  English  December.  About 
ten  o'clock  we  were  at  the  entrance  to  South- 
ampton, but  the  tide  was  out,  or  the  chief  engi- 
neer was  out,  so  we  could  not  go  up  until  that 
evening.  That  last  day  was  a  tedious  one. 
Every  one  was  eager  to  get  ashore.     To  most  of 

228 


"FEENISH" 

the  men,  England  was  home;  and  after  the 
trenches  and  the  hospitals,  home  meant  much. 

As  soon  as  we  landed,  a  train  took  us  to  a 
place  near  London.  It  was  twenty-five  miles 
from  the  hospital  that  was  our  destination. 
Here  we  were  met  by  automobiles  that  took  us 
to  the  hospital  for  Newfoundlanders  at  Wands- 
w^orth  Common,  London.  There  were  only  half 
a  dozen  of  us  from  Newfoundland.  At  first  the 
doctor  on  the  Aqidtania  persisted  in  calling  us 
Canadians,  and  wanted  to  send  us  to  Walton-on- 
Thames.  It  took  us  two  hours  to  convince  him 
that  Newfoundland  had  no  connection  with  Can- 
ada. Two  automobiles  were  enough  for  our  lit- 
tle party.  The  man  who  drove  me  in  told  me 
that  he  had  come  a  hundred  miles  to  do  it.  All 
the  automobiles  that  met  the  hospital  trains  were 
loaned  by  people  who  wanted  to  do  whatever  they 
could  to  help  the  cause.  He  was  a  dairy  farmer, 
he  said,  and  gave  me  uninteresting  statistical  in- 
formation about  cows  and  the  amount  of  milk  he 
sold  in  London  each  day.  But  apart  from  that, 
I  enjoyed  the  smooth  drive  over  the  faultless 
roads. 

The  Third  London  hospital  at  Wandsworth 
fJommon  is  a  military  hospital ;  and  although  the 

229 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

discipline  is  strict,  everything  possible  is  done 
for  the  comfort  of  the  patients.  Concerts  are 
given  every  few  evenings ;  almost  every  afternoon 
people  send  around  automobiles  to  take  the 
wounded  men  for  a  drive.  Twice  a  week  visitors 
come  in  for  three  hours  in  the  afternoon.  At 
Wandsworth  I  stayed  only  a  very  few  days. 
Two  days  before  Christmas  I  was  sent  to  Esher 
to  the  convalescent  home  run  by  the  V.  A.  D. 
Sisters.  Nobody  at  this  hospital  received  any 
remuneration.  Esher  is  in  Surrey,  not  many 
miles  from  London.  Even  in  the  winter  the 
weather  was  pleasant.  Here  we  had  a  great 
deal  of  liberty,  being  allowed  out  all  day  until 
six  at  night.  Only  thirty  men  were  in  Esher  at 
one  time.  The  hospital  contained  a  piano,  vic- 
trola,  pool  table,  and  materials  for  playing  all 
sorts  of  games.  At  Esher  one  felt  like  an  indi- 
vidual, and  not  like  a  cog  in  a  machine.  Paddy 
Walsh,  the  corporal,  who  had  hesitated  so  long 
about  leaving  me  on  the  Peninsula,  was  at  Esher 
when  I  arrived.  He  was  almost  well  now,  he 
told  me,  and  was  looking  forward  to  a  furlough. 
After  his  furlough  he  was  going  back,  he  said,  in 
the  first  draft.  "  No  forming  fours  for  me, 
around  Scotland,"  said  Walsh,  "  drilling  a  bunch 

230 


"FEENISH" 

of  rookies.  I  want  to  get  back  with  the  boys." 
After  two  weeks,  Esher  closed  for  repairs. 
We  all  went  back  to  the  hospital  at  Wandsworth. 
News  had  just  come  of  the  evacuation  of  the 
Peninsula.  In  the  ward  I  was  sent  to  w^ere  half 
a  dozen  of  our  boys.  I  asked  them  what  was  the 
trouble,  and  they  told  me  frozen  feet.  "  Frozen 
feet,''  I  said,  "in  Gallipoli?  You're  joking." 
They  assured  me  that  they  were  not  and  referred 
me  to  their  case  sheets  that  hung  beside  the  beds. 
Shortly  before  the  evacuation  a  storm  had  swept 
over  the  Peninsula.  First  it  had  rained  for  two 
days,  the  third  day  it  snowed,  and  the  next  it 
froze.  A  torrent  of  water  had  poured  down  the 
mountain  side,  flooding  the  trenches,  and  carry- 
ing with  it  blankets,  equipments,  rifles,  portions 
of  the  parapet,  and  the  dead  bodies  of  men  who 
had  been  drowned  while  they  were  sleeping. 
The  men  who  were  left  had  to  forsake  their 
trenches  and  go  above  ground.  Turks  and  Brit- 
ish alike  suffered.  The  last  day  of  the  storm, 
while  some  of  our  men  were  waiting  on  the  beach 
to  be  taken  to  the  hospital  ship,  they  told  me  they 
saw  the  bodies  of  at  least  two  thousand  men, 
frozen  to  death.  Our  regiment  stood  it  perhaps 
better  than  any  of  the  others.     It  was  the  sort 

231 


TKENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

of  climate  they  were  accustomed  to.  The  Aus- 
tralasians suffered  tremendously.  I  met  one 
man  who  had  been  on  the  Peninsula  during  the 
evacuation.  They  had  got  away  with  the  loss  of 
two  men  killed  and  one  wounded  for  the  entire 
British  force.  The  i:)apers  that  day  said  that  the 
Turks  claimed  to  have  driven  the  entire  British 
army  into  the  sea,  and  to  have  gained  an  immense 
amount  of  booty.  The  booty  gained,  our  men 
said,  was  bully  beef  and  biscuits.  Far  from 
being  driven  into  the  sea,  the  British  got  off  in 
two  hours  without  the  Turks  suspecting  at  all; 
and  it  was  not  till  the  second  day  after  that  the 
Turks  really  found  out.  It  had  taken  a  great 
deal  of  ingenuity  to  devise  a  scheme  that  would 
let  the  evacuation  take  place  secretly.  The  dis- 
tance from  the  shore  was  about  four  miles.  As 
soon  as  the  troops  knew  they  were  to  leave,  they 
ripped  up  the  sand  bags  on  the  parapets,  and 
broke  the  glass  in  the  periscopes,  so  they  would 
be  useless  to  the  enemy.  Then  they  attached  the 
broken  periscopes  to  the  parapets,  so  that  the 
Turks  looking  over  would  see  the  periscopes 
above  the  trench,  just  as  they  would  any  ordinary 
day  at  the  front.  Only  one  problem  remained 
unsolved.     As  soon  as  the  Turks  heard  the  firing 

232 


"FEENISH" 

cease  entirely,  tliey  would  think  something  was 
not  as  it  should  be.  If  they  began  to  investigate 
before  the  troops  got  away,  it  might  mean  an- 
nihilation. At  first  it  w^as  planned  to  leave  a 
small  party  scattered  through  the  trenches,  but 
this  meant  that  they  would  have  to  be  sacrificed 
in  order  to  allow  their  comrades  to  escape.  An 
Australian  devised  a  scheme.  He  took  a  number 
of  rifles,  placed  them  at  different  points  along 
the  parapest,  and  lashed  them  to  it.  In  each 
one  he  put  a  cartridge.  From  the  trigger  he  sus- 
pended a  bully  beef  tin,  weighted  with  sand. 
This  was  not  quite  heavy  enough  to  pull  the 
trigger.  On  top  of  the  rifle  he  placed  another 
tin,  filled  with  water,  and  pierced  a  small  hole 
in  the  bottom  of  it.  After  a  while  the  water, 
dripping  slowly  from  the  top  tin,  made  the  lower 
one  heavy  enough  to  pull  the  trigger.  Some  of 
the  tins  were  heavier  than  the  others,  and  the 
rifles  did  not  all  go  off  at  once.  As  soon  as 
things  were  ready,  the  troops  moved  off  silently, 
"  Just  as  if  they  were  going  into  dugouts,"  Art 
Pratt  wrote  me.  They  got  aboard  the  warships 
waiting  for  them  in  the  bay,  and  went  to  Mud- 
ros  and  Imbros.  The  evacuation  was  facilitated 
by  the  fact  that  the  Salt  Lake  that  had  been 

233 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

dried  up  when  I  was  there  was  swollen  high  by 
the  rain  of  the  previous  weeks.  All  that  night 
the  firing  continued  at  intervals,  and  kept  up  all 
through  the  next  day.  The  Turks,  taking  the 
usual  cautious  survey  of  the  enemy  trenches,  saw, 
as  they  did  every  other  day,  periscopes  sticking 
up  over  the  parapets  and  heard  the  ordinary  re- 
ports of  rifle  fire ;  to  them  it  looked  like  what  the 
official  reports  call  a  "  quiet  day  on  the  Eastern 
front." 

One  other  item  of  news  I  received  that  pleased 
me  very  greatly.  Art  Pratt  had  taken  my  place 
as  corporal  of  the  section,  and  had  sent  me  w^ord 
that  he  had  got  the  sniper  who  shot  me. 

After  I  had  been  back  in  the  Wandsworth 
Common  hospital  a  few  days,  I  was  "  boarded." 
That  is,  I  was  sent  up  to  be  examined  by  a  board 
of  doctors.  They  found  me  "  unfit  for  further 
service,"  and  I  was  sent  to  my  depot  in  Scotland 
for  disposal.  The  next  day  I  w^as  given  all  my 
back  pay  and  took  the  train  for  Ayr,  Scotland. 
There  I  w'as  given  my  discharge  "  in  consequence 
of  wounds  received  in  action  in  Gallipoli." 
Major  Whitaker,  the  officer  in  charge,  paused  and 
looked  at  me,  w'hile  he  was  signing  the  discharge 
paper. 

234 


"FEENISH" 

"  I  imagine,"  he  said,  "  you  feel  rather  sorry 
that  you  caught  that  train,  Corijoral." 

"  What  train  is  that,  sir?  "  I  said. 

"  The  one  at  Aldershot,"  he  answered,  as  he 
completed  his  signature.  I  smiled  noncommit- 
tally,  but  did  not  answer  him. 

Looking  back  now  it  seems  to  me  that  catch- 
ing that  train  is  one  thing  I  have  never  regretted. 
I  was  convinced  of  it  that  day  in  Ayr.  For  a 
few  weeks  past  convalescents  of  the  First  Bat- 
talion had  been  dribbling  into  Ayr.  You  could 
tell  them  by  their  wan,  fever-wasted  faces,  and  by 
the  little  ribbons  of  claret  and  white  that  they 
wore  on  the  sleeves  of  their  coats,  the  claret  and 
white  that  marked  them  as  the  "service  bat- 
talion." And  there  was  in  their  faces,  too,  the 
calm,  confident  look  of  men  w^ho  had  hobnobbed 
with  death,  and  had  come  away  unafraid.  Every 
one  of  them  had  the  same  tale.  "We're  tired 
of  the  depot  already.  They're  a  new  bunch 
here,  and  we  want  to  get  back  with  the  crowd  we 
know."  There  was  no  talk  of  patriotism,  or 
duty;  all  this  had  given  place  to  the  pride  of 
local  achievement.  To  those  men,  my  little 
claret  and  white  ribbon  was  all  the  introduction 
I  needed.     1  was  a  member  of  the  First  Bat- 

235 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

talion.  As  I  hobbled  along  the  main  street  of 
Ayr,  a  crowd  of  them  bore  down  on  me.  A 
heterogeneous  bunch  they  were,  bored  to  death 
with  the  quietness  of  the  Scottish  town,  shouting 
boisterous  greetings  long  before  they  reached  me. 
The  lot  of  us  took  dinner  together  and  afterwards 
went  in  a  body  to  the  theater.  The  theater  pro- 
prietor refused  unconditionally  to  take  any 
money  from  us.  We  were  "  returned  wounded," 
and  the  best  seats  in  the  house  were  ours.  Four 
or  five  of  our  party  had  just  returned  from  Edin- 
burgh, where  they  had  spent  their  furloughs. 
They  had  been  received  royally.  The  civic  au- 
thorities had  made  arrangements  with  the  owners 
of  the  Royal  Hotel  in  Edinburgh  to  put  the  New- 
foundlanders up  free  of  cost  during  their  stay. 
The  First  Battalion  had  spent  their  money 
freely  while  they  were  garrisoning  Edinburgh 
Castle,  and  the  authorities  had  not  forgotten  it. 
I  hated  to  leave  those  men  of  the  First  Bat- 
talion, who  welcomed  me  so  heartily.  I  was  glad 
at  the  thought  of  getting  back  to  the  States 
again;  but  it  was  strange  to  think  that  I  was  no 
longer  a  soldier,  that  my  days  of  fighting  were 
over.  An  inexpressible  sadness  came  over  me  as 
I  bade  good-by  to  them.     Some  of  their  names  I 

236 


"FEENISH" 

do  not  know,  but  they  were  all  my  friends. 
There  are  others  like  them  in  various  hospitals 
in  England  and  Egypt ;  and  also  in  a  shady,  tree- 
dotted  ravine  on  the  Peninsula  of  Gallipoli  there 
is  a  row  of  graves,  where  also  are  my  friends  of 
the  First  Newfoundland  Regiment. 

The  men  our  regiment  lost,  although  they 
gladly  fought  a  hopeless  fight,  have  not  died  in 
vain.  Constantinople  has  not  been  taken,  and 
the  Gallipoli  campaign  is  fast  becoming  a 
memory,  but  things  our  men  did  there  will  not 
soon  be  forgotten.  The  foremost  advance  on  the 
Suvla  Bay  front  is  Donnelly's  Post  on  Caribou 
Ridge,  made  by  the  Newfoundlanders.  It  is 
called  Donnelly's  Post  because  it  is  here  that 
Lieutenant  Donnelly  won  his  Military  Cross. 
The  hitherto  unknown  ridge  from  which  the 
Turkish  machine  guns  poured  their  concentrated 
death  into  our  trenches  stands  as  a  monument  to 
the  initiative  of  the  Newfoundlanders.  It  is  now 
Caribou  Ridge  as  a  recognition  of  the  men  who 
wear  the  deer's  head  badge.  From  Caribou 
Ridge  the  Turks  could  enfilade  parts  of  our  firing 
line.  For  weeks  they  had  continued  to  pick  off 
our  men  one  by  one.  You  could  almost  tell  when 
your  turn  was  coming.     I  know,  because  from 

237 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

Caribou  Ridge  came  the  bullet  that  sent  me  off 
the  Peuinsula.  The  machine  guns  on  Caribou 
Ridge  not  only  swept  part  of  our  trench,  but 
commanded  all  of  the  intervening  ground.  This 
ground  was  almost  absolutely  devoid  of  cover. 
Several  attempts  had  been  made  to  rush 
those  guns.  All  these  attacks  had  failed,  held 
up  by  the  murderous  machine-gun  fire.  Whole 
companies  had  essayed  the  task,  but  all  had  been 
repulsed,  and  almost  annihilated.  It  remained 
for  Lieutenant  Donnelly  to  essay  the  impossible. 
Under  cover  of  darkness,  Lieutenant  Donnelly, 
with  only  eight  men,  surprised  the  Turks  in  the 
post  that  now  bears  his  name.  The  captured 
machine  gun  he  turned  on  the  Turks  to  repulse 
constantly  launched  bomb  and  rifle  attacks. 
Just  at  dusk  one  evening  Donnelly  stole  out  to 
Caribou  Ridge  and  took  the  Turks  by  storm. 
They  had  been  accustomed  before  that  to  see 
large  bodies  of  men  swarm  over  the  parapet  in 
broad  daylight,  and  had  been  able  to  wipe  them 
out  with  machine-gun  fire.  All  that  night  the 
Turks  strove  to  recover  their  lost  ground.  The 
darkness  that  confused  the  enemy  was  the  New- 
foundlanders' ally.  One  of  Donnelly's  men, 
Jack  Hynes,  crawled  away  from  his  companions 

238 


"FEENISH" 

to  a  point  about  two  hundred  yards  to  the  left. 
All  through  the  night  he  poured  a  rapid  stream 
of  fire  into  the  flank  of  the  enemy's  attacking 
party.  So  steadily  did  he  keep  it  up  that  the 
Turks  were  deluded  into  thinking  we  had  men 
there  in  force.  When  reinforcements  arrived, 
Donnelly's  eight  men  were  reduced  to  two. 
Dawn  showed  the  havoc  wrought  by  the  gallant 
little  group.  The  ground  in  front  of  the  post 
was  a  shambles  of  piled  up  Turkish  corpses. 
But  daylight  showed  something  more  to  the 
credit  of  the  Newfoundlanders  than  the  mere 
taking  of  the  ridge.  It  showed  Jack  Hynes  pur- 
posely falling  back  over  exposed  ground  to  draw 
the  enemy's  attention  from  Sergeant  Greene,  who 
w^as  coolly  making  trip  after  trip  between  the 
ridge  and  our  lines,  carrying  a  wounded  man  in 
his  arms  every  time  until  all  our  wounded  were 
in  safety.  Hynes  and  Greene  were  each  given 
a  Distinguished  Conduct  Medal.  None  was  ever 
more  nobly  earned. 

The  night  the  First  Newfoundland  Regiment 
landed  in  Suvla  Bay  there  were  about  eleven 
hundred  of  us.  In  December  when  the  British 
forces  evacuated  Gallipoli,  to  our  regiment  fell 
the  honor  of  being  nominated  to  fight  the  rear- 

239 


TRENCHING  AT  GALLIPOLI 

guard  action.  This  is  the  highest  recognition 
a  regiment  can  receive;  for  the  duty  of  a  rear 
guard  in  a  retreat  is  to  keep  the  enemy  from 
reaching  the  main  body  of  troops,  even  if  this 
means  annihilation  for  itself.  At  Lemnos 
Island  the  next  day  when  the  roll  was  called,  of 
the  eleven  hundred  men  who  landed  when  I  did, 
only  one  hundred  and  seventy-one  answered 
"  Here." 

After  the  First  Newfoundland  Regiment  left 
the  Peninsula,  they  went  to  Egypt  to  guard  the 
Suez  Canal  from  the  long-expected  attack  of  the 
Turks.  After  they  had  been  rested  a  little  while, 
they  were  recruited  up  to  full  fighting  strength, 
again,  and  were  sent  to  France.  In  the  recent 
drive  of  the  Allies  against  the  German  positions 
on  the  Somme,  the  regiment  has  won  for  itself 
fresh  laurels.  The  "  Times  "  correspondent  at 
British  headquarters  in  France  sent  the  follow- 
ing on  July  13th : 

"  The  Newfoundlanders  were  the  only  overseas 
troops  engaged  in  these  operations.  The  story 
of  their  heroic  part  cannot  yet  be  told  in  full, 
but  when  it  is  it  will  make  Newfoundland  very 
proud.  The  battalion  was  pushed  up  as  what 
may  be  called  the  third  wave  in  the  attack  on 

240 


"FEENISH" 

probably  the  most  formidable  section  of  the 
whole  German  front  through  an  almost  over- 
whelming artillery  fire  and  a  cross-ground  swept 
by  an  enfilading  machine-gun  fire  from  hidden 
positions.  The  men  behaved  with  completely 
noble  steadiness  and  courage." 


THE   END 


241 


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